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THE HOUSEHOLD BOOK 



OF POETRY. 



THE 



HOUSEHOLD BOOK 



OF 



POETRY. 



COLLECTED AND EDITED 



BY 



CHARLES A. DAjI^A 




ELEVENTH E D 1 T J N — R E V 1 S E D ANB ENLARGED, 



Wxi\x ^Ww^Xxmmx^. 



NEW YORK: 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET. 
LONDON: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN. 

1SS2. 



A 



^%vy 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S57, by 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New Yor 



^^AY ii li^ifj 



<^^ RECEIVED ^< 



PREFACE. 



The purpose of this book is to comprise within the bounds of a single 
vohime whatever is truly beautiful and admirable among the minor poems 
of the English language. In executing this design, it has been the con- 
stant endeavor of the Editor to exercise a catholic as well as a severe taste , 
and to judge every piece by its poetical merit solely, without regard to 
the name, nationality, or epoch of its author. Especial care has also been 
taken to give every poem entire and unmutilated, as well as in the most 
authentic form which could be procured ; though the earliest edition of an 
author has sometimes been 2)referred to a later one, in which the alterations 
have not always seemed to l^e improvements. 

The arrangement of the book will be seen to be somewhat novel ; but 
it is hoped that it may be found convenient to the reader, and not alto- 
gether devoid of aesthetic congruity. The Editor also flatters himself thai 
in classifying so many immortal productions of genius according to their own 
ideas and motives, rather than according to their chronology, the nativity 
and sex of their authors, or any other merely external order, lie has exhib- 
ited the incomparable richness of our language in this department of litera- 
ture, quite as successfully as if he had followed a method more usual in such 
collections. 

That every reader should find in these pages every one of his favorite 



^'' PREFACE, 



poems is, perhaps, too much to expect; but it is believed that of those on 
which the unanimous verdict of the intelligent has set the seal of indis- 
putable greatness, none, whether of English, Scotch, Irish, or American 
origin, will be found wanting. At the same time, careful and prolonged 
research, especially among the writers of the seventeenth century, and in 
the current receptacles of fugitive poetry, has developed a consiaerable 
store of treasures hitherto less known to the general public than to scholars 
and to limited circles. Of these a due use has been made, in the confident 
belief that they will not be deemed unworthy of a place with their more 
illustrious companions, in a book which aspires to become the familiar 
friend and companion of every household. 

New York, August, 1856. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE ELEVENTH EDITION. 

It is hoped that the revised edition of this collection of poems, which ia 
herewith issued, may not be thought in any respect less worthy than its 
predecessors of the remarkable favor which the public has accorded to 
the work. In its preparation, the poetry produced during these eight 
years, both in this country and England, has been perused, and the 
observations of the numerous critics -whq commented upon the first edition 
have been diligently consulted. Some pieces may now be missed which 
were formerly to be found in our pages ; but as their places are filled by 
athers which are believed to possess greater merit, while the volume is con- 
Biderably enlarged, it is presumed that these changes will not be disap- 
proved, especially as the system of arrangement and the general character 
of the collection remain unaltered. 

New Toek, August, 1866. 



"^ RECEIVED V 

ilnnrr: 



POEMS OF NATURE 



Av:dre88 to tlie Nightingale . . . 

. A-fer in the Desert 

:; Afternoon in February 

' Airs of Spring 

1 Almond Blossom 

[Angler 

■ Angler's Trysting Tree 

■ Angler's "Wish 

' Angling, Verses in Praise of. . . 

; April 

', Arab to the Palm 

' Arethusa 

:; Autumn 

? Autr.mn 

; Autumn — A Dirge 

•; Autumn Flowers 

. Autumn's Sighing 

Bee 

.' Belfry Pigeon 

Birch Tree 

Black Cock 

Blood Horse 

; Blossoms 

V Blow, Blow, thou Winter Wind. 

Bobolink 

Bramble Flower. 

Brier 

Broom Flower 

jBugle Song 

-iC'Dnzonet — Flowers are Fresh. . . 

Chf-rus of Flowers 

Olo'id 

Oome to these Scones of Peace. . 

Coral Grove 

OomQelds 

Cricket 

Cricket.. 

Cuckoo 

Cuckoo 

Cuckoo and Nightingale 

Cvnthia 

Datfodils 

Daffodils 

Dai sy 

Daisy 

Dandelion 

Death of tho Flowers 

Departure of the Swallow 

Description of Sprin^]^ 

Dirge for tho Year 

Doubting Heart 

Drinking 

Drop of Dew 

Evening , ,. 

Evening, Ode to ...... . 

Evening Star,... 

Kvenlng Wind—Spirit 
bivatlicfit 



Pa?e 

Richard Barnfield 51 
Tliom as Pr ingle ... 75 

Longfellow 112 

Thomas Car etc.... 10 

Edicin Arnold 13 

John Chalkhill 20 

T. T. Stoddart.,... 20 

Ifiaak Walton 22 

Wotton 21 

John Keble 12 

Bayard Taylor.... 73 

Shelley 29 

Hood 97 

Keals 96 

Shelley 96 

Mrs. Southey 93 

T.B.Read 97 

Vaughan 70 

Willis 67 

Lowell... 65 

Joanna Baillie ... 29 
Barry Cormcall. . . 76 

Herrick 35 

Shakespeare 110 

Thomas Hill 22 

Ebenezer Elliott ... 41 

Landor 42 

Mary Howiit 40 

Tennyson 100 

Camoens 48 

Leigh Hunt 44 

Shelley 77 

Boioles 5S 

Percival 85 

Mary Iloicitt. 92 

W. a Bennett 107 

Coioper 107 

John Logan 23 

Wordsworth 23 

Chaucer 23 

BenJonson 104 

Wordsworth 35 

Herrick 35 

Montgomery 87 

Wordsworth 88 

Loicell 42 

Bryant 93 

William Howiit. . 107 

Lord Surrey 10 

Shelley 113 

3Iis8 Procter 107 

Anaereon 78 

Marvell 14 



Evening in the Alps Montgo^n try . . 103 

Fancy Keats , 108 

Fidelity Wordsworth... 91 

Flower and Leaf Chaucer . . 3 

Flowers Hood 43 

Flowers Longfelloio 45 

Fly Vincent Bourne.. . . "A 

Folding the Flocks Beaumont <& Fletcher 100 

Fountain Lowell 80 

Fringed Gentian Bryant ?2 

Garden Marvell fiS 

Garden Cowley 59 

Grasshopper Lovelace \. 6^ 

Grasshopper Anaereon 6S 

Grasshopper and Cricket ... Leigh Hunt 70 

Grasshopper and Cricket Keats 69 

Grasshopper, Chirping of Walter Harte 69 

Green Linnet Wordsworth 28 

Greenwood W.L.Bowles 58 

Grongar Hill John Dyer 'J^ 

Gulf- Weed C. G. Fenner 84 

Hampton Beach Whittier 85 

Harvest Moon H. K. White lOt- 

HollyTree Southey 110 

Humble Bee Emerson 70 

Hunter of the Prairies Bryant 94 

Hunter's Song Barrv Cornwall. . . 95 

Husbandman John Sterling 92 

Hymn in the Vale of Chamouni. Coleridge ... 114 

Hymn to Pan Keats 64 

Hymn to the Flowers Horace Smith 46 

Influence of Natural Objects Wordsworth 118 

Inscription in a Hermitage Thomas Warton. . . 62 

Invocation to Kain in Summer.. W. C. Bennett 77 

Ivy Green Charles Dickens. . . 90 

'lul.v John Clare 57 

Lark Hogg 19 

Latter Kain Jones Very 97 

Lion and Giraffe Thomas Pringle ... 74 

Lion's Hide Freiligrath 78 

Little Beach-Bird P. H. Dana SI 



109 




Little Streams Mary Howitt, 

March Wordsworth 

May Percival 

Meadows Herrick 

Midges dance aboon the Burn. . . Pohert Tannahill 

Midnight Wind MotJierirell 

Moan, moan, ye Dying Gales. ... Henry Xeele . - 

Moonrise Ernest Jones 104 

Morning Shakespeare 18 

Morning in London Wordsicorth 16 

Mother Nightingale ViUegas .V^ 

Alountain I)aisv Burn^s 86 

Heart's in the Highlands.... Burns 96 

ire Jones Very. 

ire and the Poets Keats. ^j0H^ 

fht is nigh Gone Ale(r. ^ffr^ f^' 

?ht s'/trlW' 



... vo 



viu 



INDEX. 



Pagre 

Night Blanco White 106 

Nightingale 3Iilton 51 

Nightingale Brummond 51 

Nightingale Coleridge. 58 

Nightingale Gil Vicente 55 

Nightingale Maria Visscher... . 55 

Nightingale and the Dove Wordsworth 53 

Nightingale^s Departure Charlotte Smith ... 56 

Nightingale, Ode to Keats 52 

Night Sons Claudius 1^6 

North Wind D. 3f. Muloch Ill 

November Hartley Coleridge.. 98 

Owl Anonymous 106 

Pan Beaumont & Fletcher 65 

Philomejia Matthew Arnold, . . 53 

Primroses, vith Morning Dew. . Herrich 85 

Question Shelley 33 

Rain on the Eoof Anonymous 77 

RoJbreast Drummond, 112 

Retirement Charles Cotton 62 

Return of Spring Pierre Ronsard .... 10 

Reve du Midi Eose Terry 64 

Rhodora Emerson 36 

Robin Redbreast AUingham 90 

Rose Waller 43 

Sabbath Morning. Leyden 17 

Sea Barry Cormcall... 81 

Sea — In Calm Barry Cornwall. . . 84 

Seaweed.' Longfellow 83 

Seneca Lake Percival. 86 

Skylark Shelley 18 

Small Celandine Wordsworth 34 

Snow-Storm Emerson Ill 

Song for September T. W. Parsons 90 

Song for the Seasons Barry Cornwall, . . 113 

Song—On May Morning Milton 13 

Bong— Phoebus Arise Drummond 14 

Hon^ to May. Lord Thurlow 15 

•5 .. ., o; — 'rhe liavk Hartley Coleridge . 19 

f^onj — Pack Clouds Away Thomas Heywood... 20 

Song— See, oh Sec Lord Bristol 28 



Song of the Brook Tennyson J 

Song of Spring Edward Youl X- 

Song— The Greenwood Tree Shakespeare [ 

Song of Wood Nymphs Barry Cormcall ... ( 

Song of the Summer Winds . . . George Barley V 

Song— The Owl )^ .,. 

Second Song-To the Same. .. . \ Tennyson K 

Sonnet — ^Autumn Moon TJiurlow IC 

Sonnet— To a Bird that haunted I ^. 7^,„ i- 

the Waters of Lake Laaken. . \ ^^'^'^'^ow 11 

Spice Tree John Sterling. 7 

Spring Anacreon 1 

Spring Beaumont & Fletcher 1 

Spring.... Tennyson 1' 

Storm Song Bayard Taylor 8 

Stormy Petrel Barry Cornwall. , . 8 

Summer Longings McCarthy 1 

Summer Months Motherwell 1 

Summer Woods Mary Howitt 6^ 

Tiger William Blake 7i 

'Tis the Last Rose of Summer.. Moore 9v. 

Trailing Arbutus Rose Terry 8( 

Twilight Longfellow 85';; 

Useful Plough Anonymous 61^'; 

Violets Herrick 84 ' 

Violets W.W.Story 4i;ii 

Voice of the Grass Sarah Roberts 5V/i 

Wandering Wind Mrs. Hemans 78i | 

Waterfowl Bryant 54'i 

Water ! The Water Motherwell 81 

West Wind, Ode to Shelley 8(1 

W et Sheet and a Flowing Sea ...A. Cunningham .... 8'i 

When the Hounds of Spring Sicinturne 11 

Wild Honeysuckle Philip Freneau. ... 41 

Willow Song 3fr8. Hemanh 6U 

Windy Night T. B. Read 109. 

Winter Song Holty IIS. 

Woods in Winter Longfello\o IK 

Yarrow TJnvi sited Wordsworth 8? 

Yarrow Visited Wordsworth 85 

Yarrow Revisi ted Wordsworth R<^ 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Adopted Child 3frs. Hemans 153 

zviigel's Whisper S. Lover 122 

Annie in the Graveyard Mrs.Gilman 158 

Babv Mty W.C.Bennett 119 

Baby^sSiioes W.C.Bennett 164 

Ballad of the Tempest J. T. Fields 158 

Boyhood W. Allston 152 

Casa Wappy L). M. Moir 109 

Child and the Watcher 3frs. Brouming 122 

Child Asleep 3fadamedeSurvillel2S 

Childhood C. Lamb 155 

Child in the Wilderness Coleridne 124 

Child Praying R. A. Willmott 160 

Children Landor 130 

Children in the Wood Anonymous 149 

Children's Hour Longfellow 155 

Choosing a Name 3f. iMmb 120 

Christening C. Lamb 120 

Danae Simonides 152 

Fairy Child John Anster 127 

For Charlie's Sake J. W. Palmer 171 

Gambols of Children G. Parley 13S 

Gipsy's Malison C. Lamb 125 

Her Eyes are Wild Wordsworth 152 

Idle Shei>herd Boys Wordsworth 136 

I Remember, I Remember. . . Hood 156 

Kitten and Falling Leaves Wordsworth 123 

Lady Ann Bothweirs Lament . Anonymous 151 

Little Bell T. Westivood 158 

Little Black Boy. . _ W. Blake 159 

Little Boy Blue Anonymous 137 

Little Children 3Iary Howitt 135 

Little Red Riding Hood L.E. LanJdoii am 

Loss and Gain Kora Perry T^. 

^•tjticy . Wordsworth. -Iftl 

/ ">ucy Gra'. . Wordsworth 154 



Lullaby Tennyson 11?^^ 

Morning Glory 3frs. Lowell 16?| 

Mother's Heart Mrs. Norton 18 

Mother's Hope L. Blanchard 13 

Mother's Love T. Burbidge 13.' 

My Child J. Pierpont 17' 

My Playmates Anonymous 16. 

On a Distant Prospect of Eton . . Gray 14 

On the Death of an Infant />. Smits ^ " 

On the Picture of an Infant Leonid as 12 

Open Window Longfellow 16 

Pet Lamb Wordsworth 18 

Philip, my Kinsr P. 3f. 3fulock 12 

Pied Piper of Hamelin R. Brazening 

Reconciliation Tennyson 

Saturday Afternoon Willis 14 

Schoolmistress Shenstone 14 

She Came and Went L.oicell 1 

Shepherd Boy Lj. E. Landon 1? 

Three Sons J. 3foultrie 1( 

Threnody Emerson 1 

To a Child ITood 11 

ToaChild J. Sterling 1! 

To a Child Anonymous 1 

To a Child during Sickness.. .. X. Hunt 1 

To a Sleeping Child J. Wilson 1 

To Ferdinand Seymour J/>'S. Norton 1' 

To George M T. 3Iiller Ifil 

To H. C Wordsworth 1? 

ToJ.H I.Hunt y 

To my Daughter Hood 1 

Under my Window^.,., T. Wesiwood 1 

x2teit?N^.^«W^ ] 

^me^re 8eve»^i. T:TTT. TZ.....;.\ Wordsicorth 1 

."Wi'i' • • ' '"'^ Tennyson 1 

1 Wi!' W.3iiller ! 



INDEX. 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



vTid doth not a Meeting like this 

uild Lan*? Syne 

:JaIlad of Bouillabaisse 

'ape Cottage at Sunset 

Champagne Eos6 

phristmas 

yome, Send round the Wine. . . . 

5arl7 Friendship 

farewell I But whenever. 

r"l the Bumper Fair 

; e of Drift-Wood 

i end of my Soul 

? i jm " In Memoriam." 

3ive me the Old 

3ow Stands the Glass Around. . 

Faffar 

ronrney Onwards 



Paee 

Moore 186 

Burns 192 

Thackerav 189 

W. B. Glazier 182 

J. Kenyon 185 

WitJier 195 

Moore 187 

De Vere 175 

5roore 188 

Moore 186 

Longfellow 181 

Moore 188 

Tennyson 178 

R. H, Messing er..., 184 

Anonymous 187 

Leigh Hunt 180 

Moore 194 



Mahogany Tree 

Night at Sea 

Oh Fill the Wine-cup High 

Old Familiar Faces 

Passage 

Qua Cursum Yentus 

Saint Peray 

Sonnets 

Sparkling and Bright 

Stanzas to Augusta 

To 

To Thomas Moore 

We have been Friends Together 

What might be Done 

When shall We Three Meet \ 

Again J 

Wreathe the Bowl 



Thackeray 194 

X. E. Land-on 192 

R. F. Williams.... 190 

C. Lamb 182 

Uhland ISO 

A. IT. Clmigh 181 

T. W. Parsons 19 J 

Shakespeare 175 

a F. Ho f man. 184 

Byron 183 

R. W. Spencer 183 

Byron 188 

Mrs. Norton 183 

G. Mackay 196 

Anonym,ou8 1 75 

Moore 185 



POEMS OF LOVE 



bsence 3fr8. KemNe 277 

ddress to a Lady Bv/rns 262 

ihl How Sweet it is to Love... Vryden 252 

illcn Percy Mrs. Norton 813 

Innabel Lee E. A. Poe 815 

■nnle Lauiie Anonymous 262 

iiBioyer N. P. Willis 282 

>lhjt me no more Tennyson 290 

b the Church Gate Thackeray 270 

jluld Robin Gray Lady A. Barnard. 806 

fiux Italiens R. B. Lytton 317 

ifvwakening of Endymion T^. E. Landon 375 

ftallad— It was not in the Winter Hood 272 

lallad— Sigh on, Sad Heart Hood 287 

;.i5eauty Ciear and Fair. Beaumont <& Fletcher 246 

Kertha in the Lane Mrs. Browning 807 

31cst as the Immortal Gods Sappho 257 

f^lissful Day Burns 834 

"toniiie Leslie Burns 263 

'$ridal of Audalla Anonymous 226 

Iridal Song MiVman 824 

lirook-side Milnes 275 

ijurial of Love Bryant 822 

^V the Towes to the Knowes. . Burns 260 

Canzonet T. Watson 249 

I^astara Habington 248 

Jhanges R. B. Lytton 813 

Jheat of Cupid Anaereon 2S1 

I^hronicle Coioley 278 

^ome Away, Death Shakespeare 253 

3omc into the Garden, Maud .... Tennyson 268 

Doming Through the Rye Anonymous 284 

>abbed Age and Youth Shakespeare 279 

?upid and Carapaspe J. Lyly 245 

>ay-dream Termyson 227 

i/cceitfulness of Love Anonymous. ...... 281 

Discourse with Cupid Ben Jonson 245 

( >isdain Returned T. Carew 250 

ream Byron 288 

'.iimest Suit Sir T. Wyat 244 

Rpithalaraion Spenser 824 

f{;pithalamium Brainard 830 

Eve of St. Agnes Keats 220 

RveljTi Hope R. Broioning 816 

i'xcuse M.Arnold 812 

I xequies T.Stanley 254 

b'jiirlnes ITood 263 

? irest Thing in Mortal Eyes. . . Charles of Orlea/ns. 822 

Jewell to Nancy Bums 260 

reside N. Cotton 832 

Florence Vane P. P. Cooke 814 



Fly not yet Mcore 2S0 

Fly to the Desert Moore 264 

Forsaken Merman 3f. Arnold 810 

Friar of Orders Gray Bishop Percy 218 

Girl of Cadiz Byron 259 

Go where Glory Waits Thee Moore 264 

Groomsman to his Mistress Parsons 277 

Health E. C. Pinkney. . . . 273 

Hear, ye Ladies Beav/mont & Fletcaer 246 

Here's a Health Burns 260 

Hermit Goldsmith 216 

Hiffhland Mary Burns . . 816 

If I Desire with Pleasant Songs. T. BurUdge 282 

If thou wert by my Side, my Love Ileher 831 

In a Tear R.Browning 292 

Indifference M.Arnold 812 

Irish Melody D. F. M'Cartnj 266 

It might have been W. C. Williamson . 21) 1 

Jeanie Morrison Motherwell 302 

Jenny Kissed Me L. Hunt 286 

Jock of Hazeldean Sir W. Scott 233 

John Anderson Burns 384 

Kulnasatz, my Reindeer Anonymous 257 

Lady Clare Tennyson 236 

Laodamia Wordsicorth 319 

Lass of Ballochmyle Burns 261 

Letters Tennyson 237 

Lines to an Indian Air Shelley 257 

Lochinvar Sir W. Scott 234 

Locksley Hall Tennyson 295 

Lord Lovel Anonymous 210 

Love Coleridge 229 

Love in the Valley G, Meredith 235 

Love is a Sickness Daniel 243 

Love Not 3Irs. Norton 823 

Love Not Me Anonymous 253 

Love Song G. Barley 2M 

Love Unrequited Anonymous 2S6 

Lovely Mary Donnelly AUingham 26."^ 

Lover to the Glow-worms Mamell 247 

Love's Last Messages T. L. Beddoes 822 

Love's Philosophy Shelley 25S 

Maid of Athens, ere we Part Byron 258 

Maiden's Choice Ano7iymous 2S0 

Maid's Lament Landor 286 

Mariana in the South Tennyso-n. 293 

Maud Muller Whitiier 805 

Milk-maid's Song Marlowe 254 

Milk-maid's Mother's Answer... i^ir W. Raleigh 254 

Miller's Daughter Tennyson 271 

Idfinstrel's Song Chatierton .814 



INDEX. 



Misvjouceptluns 

Mrs. Eliz. Wheeler 

Molly Carew 

My Dear and Only Love 

My Held is like to rend, Willie. 

My Love 

My I.ove lias Talked 

My Wi fe's a Winsome Wee Thing 

Night-Piece 

Not Om-s the Tows 

Nun 

Nut-bro\ni Maid 

Of a' the Aii-ts the Wind can Blaw 

Oh, Saw ve the Loss 

Oh, Tell me, Love 

Oh, that 'twere possible 

Old Story 

One way of Love 

Orpheus to Beasts 

Pansrlory's Wooing Song 

Phiilida and Corydon 

Philomela's Ode." 

Poet's Bridal-Day Song 

Poet's Song to his Wife 

Portrait 

Red, Red Rose 

Robin Hood and Allen-a-dale . . . 

Rory O'More 

Rosalie 

Rose and the Ganntlet 

Ruth 

Seaman's Happy Return 

Serenade 

Serenade 

Serrana 

Shall I Tell 

She is a Maid of Artless Grace. . 

Shepherd's Resolution 

Sir Caulinc, 

Song — A Weary Lot 

Song — Ask me no more 

Song — Day in Melting Purple. . , 

Song— Gather ye Rose-buds 

Song— How Delicious 

Song — I*:?fe me if I Live 

Song— My Silks and Fine Array. 

Sdus:— Sins the Old S:ng 

Song— The Heath this Night.... 

Song — To thy Lover 

Song — Why so Pale 

Sounet — I know that all 

">imet — If it be True 



Pape 

R. Brfnoning 2ST 

Herrick 247 

Lorer 2S4 

Montrose 255 

Motherxcell 803 

Loicell .. 271 

Tennyson 830 

Barns 881 

Herrick. 249 

B. Barton 830 

Z. Hunt 279 

A nonymous 204 

Burns 261 

7?. Ryan 263 

Anonymous 272 

Tennyson 800 

Anonymous 282 

R. Browning 287 

Lovelace 299 

G. Fletcher 248 

K Breton 243 

R. Greene 252 

A. Cunningham 883 

Barry Cornwall, . . 834 

Anacreon 278 

Burns 261 

Anonymous 211 

Lover 2S8 

W.AlUion 274 

J.Sterling. 804 

Hood 269 

Anonymous 219 

Hood 270 

E. C. PincTcney 270 

Lope de Mendoza. . 230 

W. Browne 246 

Gil Vicente 270 

Wither 280 

Anonymous 199 

Sir W. Scott 294 

Carexc 252 

Maria Brooks 276 

Herrick 824 

Campbell 278 

Barrv Cornwall .. . 266 

W.Blake 312 

De Vere 275 

Sir W. Scott 259 

Cra^haw 251 

Sir J. Suckling 251 

Drurnmond 241 

Michael Angelo 241 



Sonnet— Since There's no Help . Drayton sS 

^7n»1«m':^°°'^^f.!'.'!'* ";!} ^'P''^"- 82£ 

^°Fa4'7:^.'!^*^!^".''.^!'"!i^'^^''( iti'^J^aaAr.gdo.... 25S- 
Sonnet — To Yittoria Colonna. . . Michael Angelo. ... 241 

Sonnet— Why art Thou Silent . . Wordsworth 801 

Sonnets Shakespeare 23S 

Sonnets Sir P. Sidney 24r 

Sonnets from the Portuguese... 3Irs. Browning.... 242 

Spanish Lady's Love Anonymoiis 21H 

Speak, Love Beaumont <k Fletcher 24(] 

Spinning-wheel Song J.F. Waller 231 

Stanzas Byron 2S6 

Stanzas for Music Byron 260 

Summer Days Anonymous 269 

Super«^.titlon J. Korris 251 

Sweet William's Farewell Gay 218 

Sylvia G. ^Barley 274 

Take, Oh Take those Lips Away Shakespeare . . . 

and J. Fletcher.. 214 
The Bloom hath Fled thy ) ir^yi,.«...77 on^ 

Cheek,Marv f ^^^therweh 80. 

The Dule'si' this Bonnet o' Mine ^. Waugh 282 

Then Rose Terry 810 

Thou hast Yowed by thv Faith. A. Cuirmingham.,.. 262 

To '. Shelley 258 

To Wordsworth 272 

To Althea — From Prison Lovelace 

To Celia Philostratus 

To Lucasta Lovelace 

To Lucasta L^ovelace 

To Mary in Heaven Burns 

To Sarah Brake 

Tomb T. Stanley 

Too Late 1). 3f. Mulock.. . . 

Triumph of Charis Be7i Jonson 

Truth's Integrity Anonymous 

Waly, Waly Anonymous 

Wat"ch Song Anonymous 

We Parted in Silence Mrs. Cranford. . 

Welcome Thomas Davis... 

Welcome, Welcome W. Browne 

Were I but his own Wife Mary Downing ., 

When we Two Parted Byron 

White Rose Anonymous 

Widow Machree Lorer 

Winifreda An&nymous 

Wish Rogers 

You Meaner Beauties Wotton 

Young Beichan and Susie Pye.. Anonymous 

Zara's" Ear-rings Anonymous 



253 



/ 



POEMS OF AMBITION, 



American Flag 

Ballad of Agincourt 

Bannock-Burn 

Barbara Frietchie 

Battle-Field 

Battle of the Baltic 

Black Regiment 

Boadicea 

Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee 

Border Ballad 

Broadswords of Scotland 

Bull-Fight of Gazul 

Cameronian's Dream 

Carmen Bellicosum 

t^asabianca 

Cavalier's Song 

Charffc of the Light Brigade at \ 

Balaklava j" 

Charlie is my Darling 

Chevy Chase 

Covenanter's Battle-Chant 

Destruction of Senaacherib 

Excelsior 

GfilUmt Grahams 



Drake 879 

M. Drayton 852 

Burns 855 

WhiiUer 881 

Bryant 8S0 

Campbell 885 

G.H.Boker 8S2 

Cowper 846 

Sir W. Scott 8C8 

Sir W. Scott 809 

J. G. Lockhart.... 271 

Anonymous 371 

J. Hyslop 362 

G. H. McMasier ... 877 

Mrs. Hemanx 887 

Motherwell 353 

Tennyson 384' 

Anonymous 866 

Anonymous 849 

Moilierwell .^. ^G1 

Byron *.. 844 

Longfellow as*2 

Anonymous 866 



G^ ve a Rouse 

God Save the King 

Hame, Hame, Hame 

Harmodious and Aristogeiton... 
Harp that once through Tara's * 

Halls f 

Here's a Health to them that's l 

awa' j" 

Here's to the King, Sir 

Hohenlinden 

PToratian Ode 

Horatius 

How they Brought the Good | 

News from Glient to Aix. . . j 
Incident of the French Camp. . . 

-Indian Death-Song 

-Hndian Death-Song 

It is Great for our Country to Die 

Ivry 

K'-nrrinre's On and Awa' 

of the rilgfJln Fathers. 



LuLiiaucr No More. 
Lochiel's Warning. 



R. Broicning 856' 

Anonymous 878 

A. Cunningham,... 870^ 
Callistratus 845 

Moore 872 

Bums :. 867 

Anonymous 865 

Campbell. 
Mar veil. . . 
Macaulay 887 

R. Browning 8T8 

R. Brazening 388 

Anne Hunter . . 375 

Schiller 875 

Percival 345 

Macaulay., 

Burns 866 

3frs. Hemans ... . . 8J ' 

Croly 

Allan Ramsay. 
Campbell. 




INDEX. 



Marco Bozzarls 

Memory of the Dead 

Monterey 

My Ain Countree 

Naseby 

O Mother of a Mighty Eace 

Ode— How Sleep the Brave 

Ode— What Constitutes a State. 

On a Bust of Dante 

On a Sermon against Glory 

On Planting Arts and Learn- ) 

ing in America ) 

Our State 

Peace to the Slumberers 



Papre 

JTalleck 889 

J. K.Ingram 390 

C.F. I/qfmcm.. . 381 
A. Cunningham. . 8T1 

Macaulay 357 

Bryant 379 

Collins 372 

Sir W.Jones 391 

T. W, Parsons 392 

AkemMde 392 

Berkeley 376 

WhitUer 880 

^loare 372 



Pasre 

Pericles and Aspasia G. Croly 846 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Sir W, Scott 369 

Prince Eugene Anonymous 354 

Sea Fight Anonymous 836 

Shan Van Vocht Anonymous 372 

Sonnets • 31ilton 860 

Sonnets Wordsworth 391 

Son^ Moore 871 

Song of Marion's Men Bryant 377 

Song of the Greek Poet Byron 3SS 

Star-Spangled Banner F. S. Key 378 

Wae's me for Prince Charlie W. Glen ^ . 870 

When Banners are Waving Anonymous 361 

Ye Mariners of England Campbell 884 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Battle of Limerick 

; Cologne . . 

DeviTs Thoughts 

Diverting History of John Gilpin 

Dragon of Wantley 

Elegy on the Death of a Mad ) 
Dog f 

Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize 

. Essence of Oi>era 

• Faithless Nelly Gray 

Faithless Sally Brown 

Farewell to Tobacco 

Friend of Humanity and \ 
Knife-Grinder ... ) 

Good Ale 

Groves of Blarney 

Hag 

Heir of Linne 

Hypochcndriacus 

; Irishman 

Jovial Beggar 

Lady at Sea 



Thackeray 436 

Coleridge 423 

Coleridge 423 

Cowper 416 

Anonymous 400 

Goldsmith 405 

Goldsmith 419 

Anonymous 426 

Hood 429 

Rood 430 

C.Lamh 427 

Q. Canning 425 

J.Still 401 

R.A. Milliken 485 

JTerrick 424 

Anonymous 397 

C. Lamb 427 

W. Maginn 485 

Anonymous 401 

Hood 431 



Malbrook ♦ 

Massacre of the Macpherson 

Mr. Molony's Account of the ) 

Ball f 

Molony's Lament 

Old and Young Courtier 

Eail 

Rape of the Lock •. 

Receipt for Salad 

St. Anthony's Sermon to the I 

Fishes \ 

St. Patrick of Ireland, my Dear. 
St. Patrick was a Gentleman. . . . 

Sir Sidney Smith 

Song of One Eleven Years in \ 

Prison j" 

Take thv Old Cloake about Thee 

Tam O'Shanter 

Twenty-eight and Twenty-nine. 

Vicar 

Vicar of Bray 

White Squall 



Anonymous 403 

W, E. Aytoun 420 

TJiackeray 428 

Thackeray 48T 

Anonymous 404 

G.H. Clark. 4,39 

Pope 406 

Sydney Smith 426 

Anonymous 440 

W. Jfaginn 434 

H. Bennett 483 

T.Dibdin 419 

G. Canning 425 

Anonymous 402 

Burns 421 

W.3T.Praed 443 

W.M.Praed 442 

Anonymous 441 

Tliackeray. . 431 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Bonnie George Campbell 

Braes of Yarrow 

Break, Break, Break 

Bridal Dirge 

Bridal Song and Dirgo 

Bridge of Sighs 

Burial of Sir John Moore 

Calm is the Night 

Castle by the Sea 

Child" Noryce 

Coro.nach 

Cruel Sister 

Death-Bed 

Death-Bed 

Dirge 

Dirge 

Dirge 

Dirge 

Dirge ^ 

Dirge for a Young Girl : , 

Dirge in Cymbeline , 

Dirge of Imogen , 

Dirge of Jei)lithah'8 Daughter. 

Dowie Dens of Yarrow 

Dream of Eugene Aram 

I'dward, Edward , , 

Klegy ou Captaiii Uonderson. . 



Anonymous 458 

William Hamilton. 452 

Tennyson 525 

Barry Cornwall... 514 

T. L. Beddoes 513 

Hood 498 

Charles Wolfe 517 

Henry Heine 522 

Vhland 522 

Anonymous 448 

Sir W. Scott 509 

Anonymous 454 

Hood. 502 

J. Aldrich 508 

Tennyson 510 

W.S. Rof^coe 512 

T. L. Beddoes 512 

C. G. Eastman 513 

Mrs. Hemans 514 

J. T. Fields 513 

Collins 512 

Shakespeare 510 

Herrick 511 

A nonymous 451 

Hood *87 

Anonymous 456 

Burne 507 



Epitaph on Elizabeth L. H 

Fair Annie of Lochroyan 

Fair Helen 

Fishermen 

Fishing Song 

Funeral Hymn 

Gano were but the Winter Cauld 

Hester 

How's my biy ? 

Hunter's Vision 

Ichabnd 

Inchcape Rock 

In Remembrance of the Hon. ) 

Edward Ernest Villiors ) 

Iphigenia and Againemnim 

King of Denmark's Ride 

Lament 

Lament 

Lament of the Irish Emigrant. . 
Lament of the Border Widow... 

Lamentation for Celln 

Last .Journov 

Lord Randal 

Lord Ullin's Daughter 

Lok4 Leader 

Lycidas 

Mariner's Dream 



BenJonmn 515 

Anonymous 449 

Anonymous 459 

C. Kingsley 475 

Pose Terry 524 

D.Mallett 508 

A. CunningJiam,... 509 

C. Lamb 503 

SPobell 465 

Bryant 491 

Whittier 515 

Southey 482 

Henry Taylor 506 

Landor 473 

Mrs. Xorton 480 

Shelley 521 

Shelley 521 

Lady DufeHn 497 

Anonymous. 45^' 

A n onifm ous 478 

Mrs. Southey 501 

Anom/mous 456 

Campbell 481 

Browning 516 

Milton 504 

W Dimond 484 



I N P E X . 



May Queen 

Mother and Poet 

Mothers Last Song 

Nymph Complaining for the ) 

Death of her Fawn f , 

Oh ! Breathe not his Name 

Oh ! Snatched away 

On the Death of 'George the ( 

Third j 

On tlie Funeral of Charles the \ 

Firt!t f 

On the Loss of the Royal George 

Pauper's Death-bed 

Pauper's Drive 

Peace ! What do Tears Avail ?. . . 

Phantom 

Poet's Epitaph 

Prisoner of Chillon 

• Rare Willy Drowned in Tarrow 
Bea 



Paee 

Tennyson 402 

Mrs. Bvovminrj 522 

Barry Cor mc all.. . 499 

Mar veil 496 

3foore 509 

Byron 509 

H.Smith 517 

TT". L. Bowles 516 

Cowper 482 

Mrs. Southey 500 

T. Noel 502 

Barry Covmcall... 503 

Bayard Taylor. ... 514 

E. 'Elliott 520 

Byron 476 

Anonymous 453 

R. n. Stoddard. ... 4S0 



Sir Patrick Spens 

Snow-Storm 

Softly Woo Away her Breath. . . 

Sohrab and Rustum 

Solitude 

Song — O Mary, go 

Song — Yarrow Stream 

Song of the Shirt 

Song of the Silent Land 

Stanzas to the Memory of ) 

Thomas Hood \ 

The Moon was a-waning 

Tom Bowling ^ 

Twa Brothers 

Twa Corbies 

Very Mournful Ballad 

Warden of the Cinque Ports 

When I Beneath ' 

Wreck of the Hesperus 

Young Airly 



Anonymous 441 

a G. 'E((f!tman 490 

Barry Cornwall. . 49] 

M. Arnold 460 

//. K. White 521 

C. Kingsley 459 

J. Logan 454 

Rood ... 49& 

Salis 500 

B. Simmons 519 

J. TTopg 486 

C. Dibdin 4S0 

Anonymous 45T 

Anonymous 453 

Anonymmis 474 

Longfelloic 518 

Mothericell 520 

Longfelloio 483 

Anonymous 489 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Ariel's Songs Shakespeare 552 

Oomus....^ Milton 556 

Culprit Fay J.R.Drake 542 

Djinns Victor Hugo 589 

Fairies W. Allingham 550 

Fairies' Farewell R. Corhett 550 

Fairies of the Caldon Low Mary Howitt 541 

Fairies' Song Anonymous 585 

Fairy Queen. . . . Anonymous 584 

Fairy Song Keats 535 

Fairy Thora Ferguson 587 

Green Gnome R. Buchanan 551 

Hylas Bayard Taylor, ... 569 

Kilmeny Hogg 537 

King Arthur's Death Anonymous 529 

Kubla Khan Coleridge 584 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci Keats 536 

Lndy of Shallott Tennyson 554 



Legend of the Stepmother 

Lorelei 

Merry Pranks of Robin Good- ) 

Fellow f 

Mldniffht Review 

Oh ! Where do Fairies Hide |^ 

their Heads? j 

Raven 

Rhcecus 

Rime of the Ancient Mariner.. . 
Song — A Lake and a Fairy-boat. 

Song — Hear, Sweet Spirit 

Song of Fairies 

Song of the Fairy 

Thomas, the Rhymer 

Water Fay 

Water Lady 

Wee, Wee "Man 



R. Bu chanan ..... 588 

H. Heine 558 

Anonymous 583 

Zedlitz 574 

T. H. Bayly 542 

Poe 584 

Loxcell 572 

Coleridge 575 

Hood 551 

Coleridge 552 

Randolph 586 

Sh akespea re 585 

Anonymoufi 531 

H.Heine 553 

Hood 55-3 

Anonymous 6-S2 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Abou Ben Adhem 

Address to the Mummy at ) 

Belzoni's Exhibition f 

Age of Wisdom 

Alexander's Feast 

All Earthly Joy Returns in Pain 

Alleero, L' 

An Old Poet to Sleep 

Angel in the House 

Arranmore 

Arsenal at Springfield 

Bacchus 

Balder 

Barclay of Ury 

t3attle'of Blenheim 

r>e Patient 

Bells 

Bells of Shan don 

Bucket 

r?urns 

Burns. At the Grave of 

LJanadian Boat Song 

Chj^.i-ade 

Content ed Mind 

Contemplate all this Work 

Ortter't* Saturday Nisht 



L. Hmit 599 

Horace Smith 597 

Thackeray 688 

Dryden 623 

William Dunbar . . 593 

Milton 661 

W. S. Land or 720 

L. Hunt 723 

Moore 701 

Longfellov) 605 

Emerson 679 

Anonafmous 506 

Whitiier 594 

Southey 604 

Allonym ous 704 

EA. Roe 621 

F. Mahony 620 

S. Wood worth 606 

Whittier 653 

Wordsworth 651 

3roore 629 

Praed 656 

J. Sylvester 665 

Tennyson 702 

Burns 707 



Cowper's Grave 

Crowded Street 

Death of the Virtuous 

Death's Final Conquest 

Dejection — An Ode 

Delight in Disorder 

Deserted Village 

Each and All 

Egyptian Serenade 

Elegy written in a Country | 

Church-Yard f 

End of the Play 

Epitaph on the admirable Dra- |^ 



3rrs. Broicning. . . . 645 

Bryant 676 

Mrs. Barbauld 781 

J. Shirley 713 

Coleridge 686 

Herrick 680 

Goldsmith 614 

Emerson 705 

G. W. Curtis 629 



mutic Poet, W. Shakespeare. 

Exhortation , 

Fisher's Cottage 

Footsteps of Angels 

Forging of the Anchor. 

Fountain 

Garden of Love 

Good-Bye 

Good Great Man 

Grave of a Poetess 

Greenwood Shrift 

Guv 

Hallowed Ground 



Gray 

Thackeray . 
Milton 



731 



Shelley 660 

Heine 598 

Longfelloao 726 

S. Ferguson 602 

Wordsworth 675 

W. Blake 706 

Emerson 677 

Coleridge 697. 

Tliomas Miller,,, 
JR. dt C. SoiUhej/, . 

Bmerson 6Ti 

Campbell 7l(| 



INDEX. 



Page 

Flappv Life Wotion 711 

Happy Valley T.Miller 700 

Harmosan E.C.Tyench 595 

Heavenly Wisdom J.Logan 712 

Flebe Lotoell 630 

Hence all you Vain Delights. . .Beaumont S Fletcher CSS 

Hermiouc Barry Cornwall. . . 032 

Hermit Beattie 718 

Honest Poverty Bums 702 

Human Frailty Cowper 697 

Hymn to Intellectual Beauty. . . Shelley 673 

Hymn of the Church-Yard J. BetJmne 728 

I am a Friar of Orders Gray. ...J. O'Keefe 688 

If that were True Frances Broion. ... 703 

Influence of Music Shakespeare 025 

Is it Come ? Frances Brown 703 

King Death Barry Cormoall. . . 722 

King Robert of Sicily Lonqfelloio 724 

Last Leaf 0. W. Holmes 689 

Life Barry Cornwall. . . 723 

Life ir. King 727 

Life and Death Anonymous 720 

Light of Stars Longfellow 716 

Lines on a Skeleton Anonymous 728 

Lines on the Mermaid Tavern . . Keats 639 

Lords of Thule Anonymous 593 

Losses Frances Brown — 696 

Lost Church Uhland 706 

Lye, The Anonymous ^)%Q 

Man G. Herbert 712 

Man's Mortality S. Wastell 727 

Means to attain Happy Life Lord Surrey 661 

Memory I^andor 690 

Minstrel Goethe 657 

Mother Margery G. S. Burleigh 636 

Music TF. Strode 625 

Mutability ^. ...... . Shelley 694 



23 
669 
716 
694 
637 
656 

Wordsworth 713 



My Days among the Dead."... Southey 

My Mind to me a Kingdom is. .. W. Byrd 

Night Ilahington 

No More A. If. Clough. . 

Nymph's Song Wither 

Ode— Bards of Passion Keats 

Ode — Intimations of Immor- ) 

tality \ 

Ode — To Himself Ben Jonson 640 

Ode on a Grecian Urn Keats 660 

Ode to Beauty Emerson 671 

Odo to Duty Wordsworth 695 

Oh the Pleasant Days of Old.. Frances Brown.... 699 

Old Maid 3frs. Welby 635 

On a Lady Singing T. W. Parsons 628 

On Anacreon Antipater 638 

On Chapman's Homer Keats 654 

On the Death of Burns W. Roscoe 650 

%lctu^r^'^^''*"'"^^^''^^'''"''[ <^'^^^^^ ^^^ 

One Gray Hair Landor 689 

Over the Eiver Nancy A. W. Priest 730 

Passions— An Odo Collins 625 

Penseroso, II Milton 663 

Petition to Time Barry Cormoall.., 692 

Poet's Thought Barry Cornwall.., 657 

Poor Man's Song Anonymous 679 

Problem Emerson 707 

Proud Maisie is in the Wood. . . Sir W. Scott 633 

Psalm of Life Longfellow 722 

Reply J. Norris 665 

Kesolution and Independence. .. Wordsworth 658 

Robin Hood Kents 698 

Soed-Time and Harvest Whittier 713 

Shakespeare J. Sterling (539 

3he Walks in Beauty Byron 631 

* 8ho was a Phantom of Delight." Wordsworth 634 

3hei)herd's Hunting Wither 640 



Sir Mannaduke , 

Sit Down, Sad Soul 

Shive Singing at Midnight. 

Sleep 

Sleep, The 

Smoking Spiritualized 

Soldier's Dream 

Solitary Reaper 

Song— Down lay in a Nook 

Song — O Lady, Leave 

Song — Oh say not that my Heart 
Song — Rarely, Rarely comest ) 

Thou f 

Song— Still to be Neat 

Song — Sweet are the Thoughts.. 
Song — Time is a Feathered \ 

Thing f 

Song — What Pleasures have | 

Great Princes f 

Song of the Forge 

Sonnet— Of Mortal Glory 

Sonnet — Sad is our Youth 

Sonnet — The Nightingale is \ 

Mute... i 

Sonnet — ^'Tis much immortal \ 

Beauty ) 

Sonnet — Who Best can Paint. . . 

Sonnets 

Sonnets 

Soul's Defiance 

Stanzas — My life is like a ) 

Summer Rose f 

Stanzas — Thought is Deeper 

Steamboat 

Strife 

Sunken City 

Sweet is the Pleasure 

Sweet Pastoral 

Tables Turned 

Temperance ; or the Cheap \ 

Physician j" 

Thanatopsis 

The Sturdy Rock, for all his ) 

Strength f 

The Winter being Over 

There are Gains for all our Losses 

There be Those 

Those Evening Bells 

Time's Cure 

To a Highland Girl 

To a Lady with a Guitar 

To Constantia Singing 

To Macaulay 

To Mistress Margaret Hussey. . . 

To my Sister 

ToPerilla 

To the Lady Margaret 

Traveller 

Two Brides 

Two Oceans. 

Uhland 

Upon Julia's Recovery 

Vanity of Human Wishe? 

Verses, supposed to be written ) 

by Alex. Selkirk ( 

Victorious Men of Earth 

Village Blacksmith 

Virtue 

Vision, The 

Waiting by the Gate 

AVhite Island 

Who is Sylvia? 

Why thus Longing? 

Woman's Voice 

World, The 



Cohnan the younger 68S 
Barry Cormoall. . . 723 

Longfello^o 719 

J. L)6wl((nd 720 

Mrs. Browning 710 

Anojiymou^ 679 

Campbell 604 

Wordsworth 633 

Henry Taylor. 6S5 

Llood 632 

C. Wolfe 695 

Shelley 672 

Ben Jonson 680 

E. Greene 665 

Anonymous 693 

W.Byrd 666 

Anonymous 601 

Drummond 727 

A ubrey de Verc . . . 693 

Thurloio 655 

Thurlow 630 

Thurlow 655 

Drummond 670 

3Iilton 697 

Lavinia Stoddard. 693 

R. H. Wilde 694 

CP. Cranch 674 

O. W. Holmes 60G 

Tennyson 718 

Minier 677 

.;: S. Dwight 674 

K Breton 671, 

Wordsivorth G7f ' 

Crashaw C7S 

Bryant 739 

Anonymous 717 

Ann Collins 670 

R. H. Stoddard.... 693 

B. Barton 705 

Moore 622 

A nonym ous 692 

Wordsworth 632 

Shelley 627 

Shelley 62> 

Landor 650 

Skelton 631 

Whittier 634 

Her rick 6S9 

Daniel 667 

Goldsmith 60S 

R. H.Stoddard.... 6a I 
J. Sterling 69^ 

W. A. Butler 6.V1 

Herrick 632 

Sam uel John .son . . . 680 

Cowper 599 

J. Shirley 605 

LongfeUmo 600 

G. Herbert 717 

Burns 647 

Bryant 690 

Herrick 699 

Shakespeare .. 631 

Harriet Winslow... 691) 

E. Arnold G2b 

Jones Ver% 7f>; 



INDEX. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



M Well . 

Battk; song of Gustavus Adolphiis 

Bee, The 

Call, The 

Centennial Ode 

Charity 

Charity and Humility 

Chorus 

Christmas 

Christmas Hymn 

Come unto Me 

Complaining 

Creator and Creatures 

Darkness is Thinning 

Dead Christ 

Death 

Dedication of a Church 

Delight in God Only 

Desiring t( • Love 

Dirge 

Divine Ejaculation 

Divine Love 

Dying Christian to his Soul, 

Each Sorrowful Mourner 

Early Eising and Prayer 

Easter 

Easter Hymn 

Elder Scripture 

Emigrants in Bermudas 

Epiphany 

'' Eternal beam of Light Divine " 

Evening 

Example of Christ 

Exhortation to Prayer 

Fastinsr 

Feast, The 

Field of the World 

Flower, The 

For a Widower or Widow 

For Believers 

For N^cw- Yearns Day 

'•Fri3ndof All"... 

Futu re Peace and Glory of the { 

Clurch j 

Geth?emane 

Gethiiemane 

God 

God in Nature 

God is Love 

God's Greatness 

God, the Everlasting Light of ) 

the Saints f 

Heaven 

Heavenly Canaan 

" How Gracious and how Wise " 

Humility 

Hymn — Brother, thou art Gone. 
HjTun — Drop, drop, slow Tears. 
Hymn — From my Lips in their | 

Defilement j" 

Hymn for Anniversary Mar- \ 

riage Days \ 

Hymn from Psalm CXLVIII . . . 
Hymn — How are thy Servants \ 

Blest f 

Hvmn of Praise 

H} mn of the Hebrew Maid 

Hymn — When all Thy Mercies. 
Hymn— When Gathering Clouds 

Hymn — When our Heads 

Hymn — When llising from the \ 

Bed f 

Hymn— When the Angels 

[ J{mrney through a Desert. . . . 
In a clear, starry Night. . . . . 
"Is this a Time to Plant and i 

Build" f 

Jesus 



Pagre 

IT. Bonar T92 

Altenburg 775 

Vaughan 739 

Herhert 754 

J. Plerpont 774 

J. Montgomery 778 

Henry More 7C9 

Mihnan 809 

Tennyson 7G5 

A. Domrmett 765 

Mrs, Barhauld 759 

HerJ)ert 757 

Watts 805 

St Gregory 787 

31r8. Howe 764 

a Wesley 784 

Drummond 771 

F. Quarles 812 

a Wesley 779 

Croly 784 

J. Quarles 810 

Tersteegen 779 

Pope,,, 781 

Prudentius 736 

Vaughan 787 

Herbert 752 

T. Blackburn 752 

KeUe 740 

Marvell 767 

Heber 746 

a Wesley 761 

Anonymous 742 

WaUs 759 

Margaret Mercer ., 776 

F. Quarles 768 

Vaughan 756 

J. Montgomery 774 

Herbert 757 

Wither 785 

a Wesley 778 

Doddridge 740 

a Wesley 762 

floicper 791 

Joseph Hart 750 

J. Montgomery 751 

Derzhatin 814 

Doddridge 740 

Anonymous 808 

Breithaupi 813 

Doddridge 787 

Jeremy Taylor 791 

WaUs 788 

Doddridge 803 

J. Montgomery.... 770 

Milman 783 

P. Fletcher 764 

St. Joannes Da^ 
mascenus 752 

Wither 770 



802 

Addison 804 

Tersteegen 794 

Sir W. Scott 767 

Addison 804 

Sir R. Grant 763 

Milman 763 

Addison 783 

N.Breton. 777 

Anonymous 753 

Wither 742 

Keble 770 

N.iwton 758 



" Jesus, Lover of my Soul " 

"■ Jesus, my Strength " 

" Jesus shall Reign " 

Joy and Peace in^Believing 

Laborer's Noon-day Hymn 

Light Shining out of Darkness.. 
Lines on a Celebrated Picture. . . 

Litany 

Litany to the Holy Spirit 

Little While 

Living by Christ 

Lord, the Good Shepherd 

Mary 

"Mark the soft-falling Snow".. 

Martyrs' Hymn 

Messiah 

My God, I love Thee 

New Jerusalem 

Ode — The Spacious Firmament 

Odor 

Oh Fear not thou to Die 

'' Oh yet we trust " 

On a Prayer-Book sent to Mrs. ) 

M. R f 

On Another's Sorrow 

On the Morning of Christ's ) 

Nativity f 

Passion Sunday 

Peace 

Philosopher's Devotion 

Poet's Hymn for Himself 

Praise 

Praise to God 

Prayer, Living and Dying 

Priest, The 

Psalm XIII 

Psalm XYIII 

Psalm XIX 

Psalm XXIII 

Psalm XXIII 

Psalm XXX.; 

Psalm XLVI 

Psalm XLVI 

Psalm LX Y 

Psalm LXVI 

Psalm LXXII 

Psalm XCII 

Psalm C 

Psalm CXVII 

Psalm CXXX 

Psalm CXLVIII 

Eeign of Christ on Earth 

Resignation 

Search after God 

Sonnet — In the Desert 

Sonnet — The Prayers I make. . . 

Sonnets 

Spirit Land 

Stranger and his Friend 

St. Peter's Day 

They are all gone 

Thou art gone to the Grave 

" Thou, God, seest Me " 

" Thou, God. unsearchable " 

Time past. Time passing. Time \ 

to come f 

To keep a true Lent 

True use of Music 

Twelfth Day, or the Epiphany. . 

Universal Prayer 

Valediction 

Veni, Creator . 

Walking with God 

Watchman's Report 

W eeping Mary 

What is Prayer ? 

Wilderness Transformed 

Wrestling Jacob 



Paj?' 

a Wesley.... 760 

0. Wesley 760 

WaUs 749 

Cowper 778 

Wordsxcorth 767 

Cowper 805 

a Lamb 748 

Sir R. Grant 763 

Herrick 780 

Bonar 787 

Gerhard 761 

J. Montgomery 794 

Tennyson 777 

Doddridge 741 

Luther 775 

Pope 747 

St. Fran. Xavier. . . 753 

Anonymous 1> 

Addison 741 

Herbert 755 

Anonymous 780 

Tennyson 776 

R. Crashaw 772 

W. Blake 807 

Milton 743 

Fortunatus 750 

Vaughan 79i 

Hsnry More 739 

Wither ... 795 

Wither 795 

3Trs. Barbauld.... 793 

Toplady 758 

N. Breton.. 771 

Davison 796 

Sternhold 796 

Watts 797. « 

Da/vison ^^^| 

3ferrick ^^^1 

Davisoii 793 

Waits 799 

Luther 799 

Watts 800 

Sa/ndys 800 

Watts 801 

Sandys 801 

Tate and Brady. . . 801 

Watts 802 

P. Fletcher 802 

Sandys 803 

J. 3fontgomery 749 

Chatterton 808 

T Heywood 806 

Anonymous 764 

3Lichael Angela 794 

F. Quarles 757 

Jones Very 740 

J. 3Iontg ornery 755 

Keble 766 

Vaughan 786 

Heber 783 

J. 3Iontgomery 811 

a Wesley 813 

J. 3fontg ornery . . , , 813 

Herrick 768|| 

a Wesley 7731 

Wither 74811 

Pope 810 

Richard Baxter. . . 781 

St. Ambrose 793 

Coicper 807 

J. Bowring 759 

Newton : 751 

J. Montgomery. .. 775 

Doddridge 792 

O. Wesley '.. 754 



^ pepart/rTe^ 
^^ RECEIVED ''< 



J^lBRh?ri 



TNDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 

IBDIBON, JOSEPH. 

Born in Wiltshire, Eng., May 6, 1672; died in Lor., June 17, 
1T19. 

Ode — The Spacious Firmament 741 

Hymn— When Eising from the Bed 783 

Hymn — When all thy Mercies 804 

Hymn — How are thy Servants 804 

^KENSIDE, MARK. 

Born at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Nov. 9, 1721 ; d. June 23, 1770. 

On a Sermon against Glory 392 

AXDRICH, JAMES. 

Bom in Orange Co., N. Y., July 10, 1810. 

A Death-bed 503 

ALLINGHAM, WILLIAM. 

Bom in Ireland ; lived at Ballyshannon ; published " Th* 
Music Master, and Day and Night Songs." London, 1855. 

Robin Redbreast 90 

Lovely Mary Donnelly 265 

The Fairies 550 

AIXSTON, WASHINGTON. 

Bom in S. C, Nov. 5, 1779 ; d. at Cambridge, Mass., July 9, 1843. 

Boyhood 152 

Rosalie 274 

ALTENBURG, MICHAEL. (German.) 

Born in Thuringia in 1583 ; died in 1640. 

Battle-Song of Gustavus Adolphus. (Anony- 
mous translation.) 775 

AMBROSE, ST. (Latin.) 

Born at Treves, a. D. 340 ; died at Milan, April 3, 397. 

Yeni Creator. {Dry den's paraphrase.') 798 

IINACREON. (Greek.) 

Born at Tecs, Greece ; died there 476 b. c. 

Spring. (Moore's translation.) 13 

The Grasshopper. (Coicley''s translation.) 68 

On the Grasshopper. (Cowper's translation.) 69 

Drinking. (Coivley's translation.) 78 

The Portrait. (Hay's translation. ) 273 

Cheat of Cupid. (IlerricJc's translation.) 281 

iNGELO, MICHAEL. (Italian.) 

Bora in Tuscany, March 6, 1474; died in Rome, Feb. 17, 1563. 

Sonnet. (J. E. Taylor's translation.) 241 

Sonnet. (W. Wordsworth'' s translation.) 241 

Sonnet. (J. E. Taylor's translation.') 258 

Sonnet. (S. Wordsworth's translation.) 794 

a^NSTER, JOHN. 

Bom in Ireland about 1795 ; is Professor of Civil Law in Trin- 
ity College, Dublin. 

The Fairy Child 127 

.\NTIPATER OF SIDON. (Greek.) 

Lived in Greece about 100 b. c. 

On Anacreon. (T. Ifoore's translation.) 688 

VENOLD, EDWIN. 

Son of Dr. Arnold of Rugby ; brother of Matthew Arnold. 

Almond Blossom 13 

Woman's Voice 629 



ARNOLD, MATTHEW. 

Born at Laleham, Eng., Dec. 24, 1822; elected Trcfefceov of 
Poetry at Oxford in 1857. 

Philomela 68 

The Forsaken Merman 310 

Excuse 312 

Indifference 812 

Sohrab and Rustum 460 

ATTOUN, WILLIAM E. 

Born in Fifeshire, Scotland, in 1813; died Aug. 4, 1865. 

Massacre of the Macpherson 420 

BAILLIE, JOANNA. 

Born in Lanarkshire, Scotland, in 1762; died at Hampstead, 
near London, Feb. 23, 1851. 

The Black Cock 29 

BARBAULD, ANNA L^TITIA. 

Born in Leicestershire, Eng., June 20, 1743; died near Lon 
don, March 9, 1825. 

Death of the Virtuous 731 

" Come unto Me." 759 

Praise to God 793 

BARNARD, LADY ANNE. 

Born in Scotland, Dec. 8, 1750 ; died May 8, 1825. 

Auld Robin Gray 80G 

BARNFIELD, RICHARD. 

Born in StaflFordshire, Eng., in 1574, died about 160C. 

Address to the Nightingale 51 

BARTON, BERNARD. 

Born near Loudou, Jan. 31, 1784; died Feb. 19, 1849. 

Not ours the Vows 800 

There be Those 705 



BAXTER. RICHARD. 

Born in Shropshire, Eng., Nov., 1615; died Dec. 8, lOiJl. 

Valediction 



781 



BA.YLY, THOMAS IIAYNES. 

Born in Bath, Eng., in 1797 ; died in 1839. 

Oh I Where do Fairies hide their Heads ? 643 

BEATTIE, JAMES. 

Born in Kincardineshire, Scot., Oct. 20, 1735 ; died Aug. 18, 1803. 

The Hermit HS 

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. 

Were connected ae writers in Loudon from about 1605 to 1615. 
Francis Beaumontj b. in Leicestershire iu 158G ; d. March 9, 1C16 ; 
John Fletcher, b. in Northamptonshire in 1576 ; d. in Lon. iu 
1625. 

Spring J 5 

ToPan 65 

Folding the Flocks : 100 

Hear, Ye Ladies 1M6 

Beauty Clear and Fair 246 

Speak, Love 24f 

Hence all you Vain Delights 6Sc 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



BEDD0E8, THOMAS LOVELL. 

Born near Bristol, Eng., in 1802; died in Germany in 1849. 

Love's Last Messages 321 

Dir^e 51 2 

Bridal Song and Dirge ... 51 3 

BENNETT, HENET. 

Born in Cork, Ireland, about 1785. 

St. Patrick was a Gentleman 483 

BENNETT, WILLIAM C. 

Lives in London. 

Invocation to Eain in Summer 77 

ToaCricket 107 

Baby May 119 

Baby's Shoes 164 

BERKELEY, GEOEGE. 

Born at Kilcrin, Ireland, March 12, 1684 ; died, bishoT if 
Cl.yne, Jan. 13, 1753. 

On the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning 
in America 376 

BETHUNE, JOHN. 

Born inFifesbire, Scotland, in 181-2; died Sept. 1, 1839. 

Hymn of the Church-yard 728 

BLACKBUEN, THOMAS. 

Author of " Kj'mns and Poems for the Sick and Suflfering." 

Easter Hymn 752 

^LAKE, WILLIAM. 

Born in London, Nov. 2?, 1757 ; died Aug, 12, 1828. 

The Tiger 78 

The Little Black Boy 159 

Song 812 

The Garden of Love 706 

On Another's Sorrow 807 

BLANCHAED, LAMAN. 

Born at Great Yarmouth, England, May 15, 1803; died Feb. 
5, 1845. 

Mother's Hope 181 

BOKEE, GEOEGE HENEY. 

riom in Philadelphia in 1823. 

Black Eegiment 3S2 

BONAE, HORATIUS. 

Born in Scotland about 1810. Minister of the Free Church 
in Kelso. 

A Little While 787 

All Well 792 

BOUENE, VINCENT. 

An usher in Westminster School; born about 1695; died 
Dec. 2, 1747. 

The Ely 72 

BOWLES, WILLIAM LISLE. 

Bom in Northamptonshire, Sept. 24, 1762; died April 7, 
• 1S50. 

The Greenwood 58 

Come to these Scenes of Peace 58 

On the Funeral of Charles the First 516 

BOWEING, JOHN. 

Bom in Exeter, England, Oct. 27, 17'.<2. 

Watchman's Eeport 759 

BEAINARD, JOHN G. C. 

Bora at Mew London, Conu., Oct. 21, 1796; died Sept. 26, 
1828. 

Epithalamiura 880 

8EEITHAUPT, JOACHIM JUSTUS. 

Born in Hanover in 1658; died March 16, 1732. 

God's Greatness. (^Jo?in Wesle^fs translation.) 813 
BEETON. NICHOLAS. 

Bom in iEngland in 1555 ; died in 1624 

Phillidaand Corvdon 243 

A Sweet Pastoral 671 

Priest 771 

Hymn 777 

BEI8T0L, LOED. (George Digby.) 

Bom in Madrid in 1612 ; died at Chelsea, March 20, 1676. 

Song 28 

BEOOKS, MAEIA. 

Bom at Medford, Mass., about 1795 ; died in Cuba, Nov. 11, 1845. 

Song 276 



Pag. 

BEOWN, FEANCES. 

Born in Ireland, June 16, 1818 ; died in 1864. 

Losses 696 

OhI the Pleasant Days of Old 699 

Is it Come? 703 

If that were True ... 708 i 

BROWNE, WILLIAM. 

Born in Devonshire in 1590 ; died in 1645. 

Shall I tell? 246 

Welcome, Welcome 256 

BEOWNING, ELIZABETH BAEEETT. 

Born in London in 1809 ; died in Florence, July 29, 1861. 

The Child and Watcher 122 

Sonnets from the Portuguese 242 

Bertha in the Lane ." 307 

Mother and Poet 522 

Cowper's Grave 645 

The Sleep 719 

BEOWNING, EOBEET. 

Bom near London in 1S12. 

Pied Piper of Plamelin 189 

Misconceptions 237 

One Way of Love 287 

In a Year 298 

Evelyn Hope 816 

Give a Eouse 860 

How they brought the Good News from Ghent 

to Aix STB 

Incident of the French Camp S88 

The Lost Leader , 516 

BEYANT, .YILLIAM CULLEN. 

Born in Curamington, Mass., Nov. 3, 1794 

To a Waterfowl 56 

The Fringed Gentian 92 

Death of the Flowers 93 

The Hunter of the Prairies 94 

The Evening Wind 101 

Burial of Love 822 

Song of Marion's Men 317 

Oh ! Mother of a Mighty Eace 379 

The Battle-field 380 

The Hunter's Vision 491 

The Crowded Street 676: 

Waiting by the Gate 690 

Thanatopsis 729- 

BUCHANAN, EOBEET. 

Bom in Scotland about 1835. 

Green Gnome 551 

Legend of the Stepmother 588 

BUEBIDGE, THOMAS. 

Born in England ; published " Poems, Longer and Shorter." 
London, 1838. 

Mother's Love 133 

If I desire with Pleasant Songs 282 

BUELEIGH, GEOEGE S. 

Born atPlaiufield, Conn., March 26, 1821, 

Mother Margery 636 

BUENS, EGBERT. 

Born near Ayr, Scotland, Jan. 25, 1759 ; died July 21, 1796. 

To a Mountain Daisy 36 

My heart's in the Highlands 95 

Auld Lang Syne : 192 

Here's a Health to Ane 260 

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes 260 

Farewell to Nancy 260 

Of a' the airts the Wind can Blaw 261 

Eed, EedEose 261 

Lass of Ballochmyle 261 

Address to a Lady 262 

Bonnie Leslie 263 

Highland Mary 816 

To Mary in Heaven 317 

My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing 831 

Blissful Day 334 

John Anderson 384 

Bannock-Burn 355 

Kenmure's on and Awa' 866 

Here's a Health to them that's Awa' 367 

Tarn O'Shanter 421 

Elegy on Captain Matttew Henderson 507 

The Vision 647 

Honest Poverty 702 

The Cotter's Saturday Night. T07 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Wil 



Page 
BUTLER, WILLIAM ALLEN. 

Born in Albany, N. Y., in 1825. 

Uhland <^54 

BYKD, WILLIAM. 

An English musical composer — lived about 1600. 

Song ^QQ 

My minde to Me a Kingdom is 669 

BYRON, LORD. 

Born in London, Jan. 22, 1788 ; died April 19, 1824. 

Stanzas to Augusta 183 

To Thomas Moore 188 

Maid of Athens, ere we Part 258 

Girl of Cadiz 259 

Stanzas for Music 260 

Stanzas— Oh, talk not to me 286 

The Dream 288 

When we two parted 291 

Destruction of Sennacherib 844 

Song of the Greek Poet 388 

The Prisoner of Chillon 4T6 

Oh, Snatched away in Beauty's Bloom 509 

She Walks in Beauty ' 631 

CALLFSTRATUS. (Greek.) 

Lived in Greece about 500 b. c, 

IlarmodiusandiVristogeiton. {Lord Denman's 
translation.) 345 

OaMOENS, LUIS DE. (Portuguese.) 

Born in Lisbon about 1524 ; died in 1579. 

Canzonet. {Lord Sir angforcCs translation.). 43 

CAMPBELL, THOMAS. 

Bom in Glasgow, July 27, 1777 ; died at Boulogne, Jime 15, 1844 

To the Evening Star 102 

Song 2T8 

Lochiel'a Warning 367 

Hohenlindcn 383 

Ye Mariners of England 3S4 

Battle of the Baltic 385 

Lord UUin's Daughter 481 

The Soldier's Dream 604 

Hallowed Ground 700 

CANNING, GEORGE. 

Born in London, April 11, 1770 ; died at Chiswick, Aug. 8, 1827. 

Friend of Humanity, and the Knife- Grinder. . . 425 

Song of one Eleven Years in Prison 425 

CAREW, THOMAS. 

Born in Devonshire, England, in 1589; died in 1639. 

The Airs of Spring 10 

Disdain Returned 250 

Song 252 

DHALKHILL, JOHN. 

A friend of Izaak Walton ; lived in the 17th century. 

The Angler 20 

JHATTERTON, THOMAS. 

Bom at Bristol, England, Nov. 20, 1752; HUed himself, Aug. 
25, 1770. 

Minstrel's Song 314 

The Resignation 808 

CHAUCER, GEOFFREY. 

Born in London in 1328 ; died Oct. 25, 1400. 

Flower and the Leaf 3 

The Cuckoo and the Nightingale 23 

DLARE, JOHN. 

Bom in Northamptonshire, England, July 13, 1793 ; died in 1864. 

July 57 

CLARK, GEORGE H. 

Lives at Hartford, Conn. 

Tht^ Rail 439 

CLAUDIUS, MATTHIAS. (Gekmax.) 

Born near Lubeck, Germany, in 1743; died in 1815. 

Night Song. {C. T. Brooks's translation.) 106 

CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH. 

Born in Liverpool, Jan. 1, 1819; died in Florence, Nov. 13,1861. 

Qua Cursum Ventus 182 

No More 694 



COLERIDGE, HARTLEY. ^"^ 

Born near Bristol, Euir,, Sept. 19, 1796 ; died Jan. 19, 1849. 

Song— The Lark 13 

November 99 

COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR. 

Born in Devonshire, Eng., Oct. 21, 1772; died July 25, 1834. 

-The Nightingale 53 

Hvmn, before Sunrise 114 

The Child in the Wilderness 124 

Love 229 

Cologne 423 

Devil's Thoughts 423 

Song— Hear Sweet Spirit 552 

Rime of the Ancient Mariner 575 

Kubla Khan 584 

Dejection : an Ode 686 

The Good Great Man 697 

COLLINS, ANN. 

Lived in England about 1650. 

Winter being Over 670 

COLLINS, WILLIAM. 

Born at Chichester, England, Dec. 25, 1720; died in 1756. 

Ode to Evenina: 102 

Ode— How Sleep the Brave 372 

Dirge in C ymbeline 512 

The Passions 625 

COLMAN, GEORGE, "The Yotjnger." 

Born in London, Oct. 21, 1762 ; died Oct. 26, 1836. 

Sir Marmaduke 688 

COOKE, PHILIP PENDLETON. 

Born at Marti nsburg, Va., Oct. 26, 1816 ; died Jan. 20, 1850. 

Florence Yane 314 

CORBETT, RICHARD. 

Born in Surrey, England, in 1582 ; died in 1635. 

The Fairies' Farewell 550 

CORNWALL, BARRY. (B. W. Procter.) 

Bom in Wiltshire, England, about 1798. 

Song of Wood Nymphs 66 

The Blood Horse 76 

The Sea 81 

The Stormy Petrel 8t 

The Sea— In Calm 84 

The Hunter's Song 95 

A Song for the Seasons 113 

Song — Love me if I Live 266 

Poet's Song to his Wife 3:34 

Softly Woo away her Breath 491 

The Mother's Last Song 499 

Peace ! What do Tears Avail ? 508 

Bridal Dirge 514 

Hermione 632 

Poet's Thought 657 

Petition to Time 692 

King Death 722 

Sit down. Sad Soul 723 

Life 728 

COTTON, CHARLES. 

Born in Derbvshiro, England, in 1630 ; died in 1687. 

The Retirement 62 

COTTON, NATHANIEL. 

Bom at St. Albans, England, in 1721 ; died in 1788. 

The Fireside 332 

COWLEY, ABRAHAM. 

Born in London in 1618 ; died July 28, 1667. 

The Garden 59 

The Chronicle 278 

COWPER, WILLIAM. 

Born in Hertfordshire, Eng., Nov. 15, 1731 ; died April 25, 1800. 

The Cricket 107 

Boadicea 846 

Diverting History of John Gilpin 416 

On the Loss of the Royal George 482 

Verses, supposed to be written by Alex. Selkirk 599 

On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture 607 

Human Frailty C97 

Joy and Peace in Believing 779 

Future Peace and Glory ot"^ the Church 791 

Light Shlninc: out of Darkness 81^' 

Walking with God 80; 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



CEANCH, CHEI8T0PHEE PEAESE. 

Born in Alexandria, D. C, March 8, 1813. 

Stanzas— Thought is Deeper 674 

OEASHAW, EICHAED. 

Born in Cambridgeshire, Eng., about 1600; died in 1650. 

Song— To thy Lover 251 

Temperance, or the Cheap Physician 678 

On a Pray er-Book 772 

CRAWFOED, MES. J. 

An Irish lady; wrote for the *' London Nevf Monthly." 

We parted in Silence 292 

CROLY, GEOEGE. 

Born in Dublin in 1780 ; died in 1860. 

Leonidas 346 

Pericles and Aspasia 346 

Dirge 784 

CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN. 

Bom at Blackwood, Scotland, Dec. 17, 1784 ; died Dec. 29, 1842. 

A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea 82 

Thou hast Yowed by thy Faith, my Jeannie. . . 262 

Poet's Bridal-day Song 333 

Hame, Fame, Hame 370 

My Ain Conntree 371 

* Gane were but the Winter cauld 509 

CUETIS, GEOEGE WILLIAM. 

Bom in Providence, R. I., in 1824. 

Egyptian Serenade .* 629 

DAMASCENUS, ST. JOANNES. (Greek.) 

Born in Damascus ; died about 756. 

Hymn. {E. B. Browning's translation?) 752 

DANA, EICHAED HENEY. 

Bom at Cambridge, Mass, Nov. 15, 1787. 

The Little Beach-Bird 84 

DANIEL, SAMUEL. 

Born in Somersetshire, Eng., in 1562 ; died Oct., 1619. 

Love is a Sickness 243 

To the Lady Margaret 667 

DAELEY, GEOEGE. 

Born in Dublin in 1785 ; died in London in 1849. 

Song of the Summer Winds 79 

Gambols of Children 138 

Love Song 274 

Sylvia 274 

DAYIS, THOMAS. 

Bom in Mallow, Ireland, in 1814 ; died in Dublin, Sept. 16, 1845. 

The Welcome 267 

DAYISON, FEANCIS. 

Born in Norfolk, England, about 1575; died about 1618. 

Psalm XIII 796 

Psalm XXIII 797 

Pi^alm XXX : 798 

DE YEEE, AUBEEY. 

Born in the county of Liinerick, Ireland, Dec. 16, 1814. 

Early Friendship 175 

Song— Sing the Old Song 275 

Sonnet 693 

DEEZHAYIN, GAB'L EOMANOWITCH. (Exjssian.) 

Bora in Kasan, Russia, July .3, 1743; died July 6, 1816. 

God. {J. Bowrvng's translation.) 814 

DIBDIN, CHAELES. 

Bom at Southampton, England, in 1745 ; died in 1814. 

Sir Sidney Smith 419 

Tom Bowling 486 

DICKENS, CHAELES. 

Born at Portsmouth, England, Feb. 7, 1812. 

Ivy Green 98 

DIMOND, WILLIAM. 

A theatrical manager ; born in Bath, Eng. ; died in Paris, Oct. 
1837. 

The Mariner's Dream 484 

nOBELL. SYDNEY. 

Bom at Peckhaui Rye, England, in 1824. 

How's my Boy ? 485 



DODDEIDGE, PHILIP. 

Born in London, June 26, 1702 j died Oct., 1761. 



Pas? 



For New Year's Day 740 

" Mark the Soft-falling Snow " 741 

God the Everlasting Light of the Saints 787 

Wilderness Transformed 792 

" How Gracious and how Wise " , 808 



DOMMETT, ALFEED. 

Born in England about 1815; lives in New Zealan-' 

Christmas Hymn 

DOWLAND, JOHN. 

An English musical composer; lived about 1600. 



DOWNING, MAEY. 

Bom in Cork, Ireland, about 1830. 

Were I but his own Wife. 



765 



72rt 



267 



DEAKE, JOSEPH EODMAN. 

Bom in New York, Aug. 7, 1795 ; died Sept., 1820. 

To Sarah 833 

American Flag 379 

The Culprit Fay 542j 

DEAYTON, MICHAEL. 

Bom in Warwickshire, England, in 1563; died in 1631. j 

Sonnet 286' 

Ballad of Agincourt 852 

DEUMMOND, WILLIAM. 

Born in Scotland, Nov. 13, 1585; died Dec, 1649. 

Song — Phoebus Arise 14 

To the Nishtingale 51 

To the Eedbreast 112 

Sonnet— I know that All Ml 

Sonnets 670 

Sonnet— Of Mortal Glory 72T 

Dedication of a Church 77? 

DEYDEN, JOHN. 

Born in Northamptonshire, Eng., Aug. 9, 1631 ; died May 1, 1700. 

Ah, how Sweet it is to Love 252 

Alexander's Featt 623 

DUFFEEIN, LADY. 

Formerly Mrs. Blackwood ; grand-dnughter of R. B. Sheridan ; 
sister of Mrs. Norton ; born in Ireland in 1807. 

Lament of the Irish Emigrant 497 

DUNBAE, WILLIAISI. 

Born in Scotland about 1461 



died about 1530. 
All Earthly Joy returns in Pain ". 



DWIGHT, JOHN SULLIYAN. 

Bom in Boston, Mass., May 13, 1813. 

Sweet is the Pleasure 674 

DYEE, JOHN. 

Born in Wales in 1700 ; died in 1758. 

Grongar Hill , 



98 



593 

Jl 



EASTMAN, CHAELES GAMAGE. 

Bora in Fiyeburg, Me., June 1, 1816 ; died in Burlingt jn, Vt., 
in 1861. 

A Snow Storm 490 

Dirge 518 

ELLIOTT, EBENEZEE. | 

Born near Sheffield, Eug., March 17, 1781 ; died Dec. 1, 18-19. 

The Bramble Flower '11 

Poet's Epitaph 52(J 

EMEESON, EALPH WALDO. 

Bora in Boston, Mass., in 1803. 

The Ehodora 86 

To the Humble Bee 70 

The Snowstorm Ill 

Threnody 16C 

Ode to Beauty 671 

Good-bye 67T 

Guy 678 

Bacchus 679 

Each and All 70D 

TheProblem T[)7 



INDEX or AUTHOllS. 



.TENXER, CORNELIUS GEORGE. ^^^ 

Born in Providence, R. I., Dec. 30, 1822 ; died iu Cincinnati, 
Jan. 4, 1847. 

Gulf Weed 84 

FERGUSON, SAMUEL. 

Born in the north of Ireland about 1805— is a Barrister in Dublin, 

The Fairy Thorn 5S7 

Forging of the Anchor 602 

FIELDS, JAMES T. 

Born in Portsmouth, N. H., in 1820. 

Ballad of the Tempest 158 

Dirge for a Young Girl 518 

EXETCHER, GILES. 

Born in Kent, England, about 1550 ; died in 1610. 

Panglory's Wooing Song 248 

FLETCHER, PHINEAS. 

Born in London in 1584; died about 1650. 

Hymn— Drop, Drop, Slow Teard 764 

Psalm CXXX 802 

FORTUNATUS. YENANTIUS. (Latin.) 

Saint of the Latin Church; born near Venice in 530; died 
about 600. 

Passion Sunday. {Anonymous translation.).. 750 

FREILIGRATH, FERDINAND. (Geeman.) 
Born at Detmold, Germany, June 17, 1810. 

The Lion's Ride. {Anonymous translation.). 73 
FRENEAU, PHILIP. 

Born in New York, Jan. 13, 1752 ; died Dec. 18, 1832. 

The Wild Honeysuckle 41 

GAY, JOHN. 

Bom in Devonshire, England, in 1688; died Dec. Jl, 1732. 

Sweet Y/illiam's Farewell to Black-eyed Susan. 218 
GERHARD, PAUL. (German.) 

Born in Saxony in 1606 ; died June 7, 1676. 

Living by Christ. {J. Wesley'' s translation.). 761 
OILMAN, CAROLINE. 

Born in Boston, Mass., in 1794, 

Annie in the Grave-yard 158 

GLAZIER, W. B. 

Lives in Gardiner, Me. 

Cape Cottage at Sunset 182 

GLEN, WILLIAM. 

A native of Glasgow, died about 1824. 

Wac's Me for Prince Charlie 870 

GOETHE, JOHANN WOLFGANG YON. (German.) 

Bom at Frankfort-on-the-Main, Aug. 29, 1749 : died at Weimar, 
in 1832. 

The Minstrel. {J. C. Ma/ngan^s translation.). 657 
GOLDSMITH, OLIVER. 

Born in the county of Longford, Ireland, Nov. 29, 1728; died 
April 4, 1774. 

The Hermit 21 6 

Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog 405 

Elejjy on the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Mary 

Blaizc 419 

The Traveller C08 

The Deserted Village 614 

GRANT, SIR ROBERT. 

Born in Scotland in 1785 ; died July 9, 1838. 

Litany 762 

H y mn 763 

GRAY, THOMAS. 

Born in London, Dec. 20, 1746 ; died July 30, 1771. 

Ou a Distant Prospect of Eton College 148 

Elegy written in a Country Church-yard 731 

GREENE, ROBERT. 

Born at Norwich, Enfrlrind, about 1560 ; died Sept. 5, 1592. 

Philomela's Ode 2.*i2 

Song— Sweet are the Thoughts 665 

GREGORY THE GREAT, ST. (Latin.) 

•-, Born la Rome about 540 ; died 604. 

Darkness is Thinning. {J. M. NeaU J trans- 
lation.) .... 737 



HABINGTON, WILLIAM. ^^ 

Born in Worcestershire, England, in 1605 ; died in 1615. 

Castara 24S 

Night 716 

HxVLLECK, FITZ-GREENE. 

Born at Guilford, Conn., in Aug., 1795. 

^ Marco Bozarris 



889 



HAMILTON, WILLIAM. 

Born at Bangour, Scotland, in 1704; died in 1754. 

Braes of Yarrow 452 

HART, JOSEPH. 

An English Dissenting Clergyman ; lived in London in 1759. 

Gethsemane 750 



HARTE, WALTER. 

Born in 1700; died in Wales in 1774. 

Soliloquy 



69 



HEBER, REGINALD. 

Born in Cheshire, England, April 21, 1783 ; died April 3, 182«. 

If thon wert by my Side 331 

Epiphany 746 

Thou art gone to the Grave 788 

HEINE, HEINRICH. (German.) 

Born at Dusseldorf, Germany, Jan. 1, 1800 ; died in 1856. 

"Calm is the Night." {Leland^s translation.) 522 
The Lorelei. {C. P. CrancJCs translation.)... 553 

The Water Fay. {Leland's translation.) 553 

The Fisher's Cottage. {LelancCs translation.) 598 

HEMANS, FELICIA. 

Bom in Liverpool, England, Sept. 25, 1794 ; died May 16, 1835. 

Willow Song 67 

The Wandering Wind 79 

The Adopted Child 158 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers 876 

Casablanca oS7 

Dirge 514 

HERBERT, GEORGE. 

Born iu Wales, April 3, 1593 ; died in Feb., 1632. 

Man 712 

Virtue 717 

Easter 752 

The Call 754 

The Odor ,. 755 

Complaining 757 

The Flower 757 

HERRICK, ROBERT. 

Born in London in 1591 ; date of death unknown. 

To Violets 34 

To Primroses 35 

To Blossoms 85 

To Datfodils 35 

To Meadows 01 

Mrs. Eliz. Wheeler 247 

Night Piece 249 

Gather ye Rose-buds 324 

The Hag 424 

Dirge of Jcphth.ah's Daughter 511 

Delight in Disorder 630 

Upon Julia's Recovery 632 

To Pcrilla 689 

The White Island 699 

To keep a true Lent 768 

Litany to the Holy Spirit 7*<i 

HEYWOOD, THOMAS. 

Livwd in England, under Queen Elizabeth and Charles I. 

Song— The Lark 20 

Search after God 800 



HILL, THOMAS. 

Bora iu New Brunswick, N. J., Jan. 7, 1818. 

The Bobolink 



22 



HOFFMAN, CHARLES FENNO. 

Born iu New York in 1806. 

Sparkling and Bright 184 

Monterey 7 B87 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Psge 
QOGG, JAMES. 

Born in Ettrick, Scotland, Jan. Co, I'.IQ ; died Nov. '21, lSo5. 

The Lark 10 

The Moon was a Waning 4^^6 

Kilmeny T^oT 

HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL. 

Horn at Cambridge, Mass., Aug. 29, 1S09. 

The Steamboat 000 

The Last Leaf GS9 

HOLTY, LUDWIO. (German.) 

liom near Hanover, Germany, Dec. '.'1, 174S ; died Dec. 1, 1776. 

Winter Song. {C. T, Broola's translatian.)... 112 
HOOD, THOMAS. 

Born in London iu 179S; died May 3, 1S45. 

Flowers 43 

Autnnin 07 

To a Child embracing his Mother. 125 

To my Daughter 135 

I Eemember, I Eemember 156 

Fair Ines 263 

Kuth 260 

Serenade 270 

Ballad— It was not in the Winter 272 

Ballad— Si ;^h on. Sad Heart 2S7 

Faithless is'ellv Gray 420 

Faithless Sallv Brown 430 

Lady at Sea. .' 431 

Dream of Eugene Aram 4S7 

Bridge of Siffhs 49S 

Song of the Shirt 409 

The^ Death-bed 502 

The Water Ladr 553 

Song —A Lake and a Fairy Boat 554 

Song— Liidy, Leave 632 

UOWE, JULIA WAKD. 

Porn iu New York about lS-20. 

The Dead Christ 764 

UOWITT. MARY. 

Born in Uttoxeter, England, about ISOO. 

Little Streams 31 

Broom Flower 40 

Summer Woods 66 

Corntields 02 

Little Children 135 

Fairies of the Caldon Low 541 

nOWITT, WILLIAM. 

Boru in Derbyshire, England, in 1795. 

Departure of the Swallow 107 

HUGO, VICTOR. (French.) 

Born in Besan.ou, France, Feb. 26, ISO*?. 

The Djinns. {C7SuUi can's transhiiioji.) 589 

HUNT, LEIGH. 

Bom in Middlesex, Eug., Oct. 19, 17S4; died Aug. ?8, 1S59, 

Chorus of Flowers 44 

Grasshopper and Crieket 70 

To J. II.— Four Years Old 126 

To a Child during Sickness 127 

Jaffar ISO 

The Nun 270 

Jenny Kissed Me -^6 

Abou Ben Adhera 509 

Angel in the House 723 

HUNTER, ANNE. 

Born in Scotland in 1742 ; died in ISJl. 

Indian Death-song 875 

HYSLOP, JAMES. 

Born in Scotland, July, 179S; died Dec. 4, 1827. 

Cameronian's Dream 362 

INGRAM, JOHN KELLS. 

Born in Irelaud about is:0 ; is a Fellow of Trin. ColL, Dublin. 

The Memory of the Dead 890 

JOHNSON, SAMI'EL. 

Bom in Lichfield, Eng., Sept, IS, 1709 ; died in London, Dec. 

Yanity of Human Wishes 6S0 



JONES, ERNEST. ^"** 

A leading Chartist; lives in England. 

Moonrise 104 

J0NT:S, sir WILLIAM. 

Born in London, Sept 28, 1746 ; died April 27, 1794. 

Ode— What Constitutes a State S91 

JONSON, BEN. 

Born in London, June 11, 1574; died Aug. 16, 1637. 

To Cynthia lOi! 

Triumph of Charis 2444 

Discourse with Cupid 2451 

Epitaph on Elizabeth L. H 5151 

Song 6801 

Ode— To Himself 640^ 

KEATS, JOHN. 

Born in London in 1796 ; died Feb. 24, 1S21. 

Nature and the Poets 47 

Ode to a Nightingale 52 

Hymn to Pan 6-1 

On the Grasshopper and Cricket 69 

To Autumn , 96 

Fancy ./ t<^3 

Eve of St. Agnes .y^ 220 

Fairy Song 535 

La Belle Dame sans Merci 536 

Lines on the Mermaid Tavern 639 

On first looking into Chapman's HomeT 654 

Ode- Bards of Passion 656 

Ode on a Grecian Urn 060 

Robin Hood! 698 

KEBLE, JOHN. 

Born in Gloucestershire, Eng,, April 25, 1"9V, died March 29, 1866. 

April 12 

The Elder Scripture 740 

St. Peter's Day 766 

Is this a Time to Plant and BaiW ? 770 

KEMBLE, FRANCES ANNE. 
Born in London about ISll. 

Absence . 277 

KENYON, JOHN. 

Died in London in 1857. 

Champagne Ros6 ISo 

KEY, FRANCIS SCOTT. 

Born about 1790; died in Baltimore, Jan. 11, 1S43. 

Stai'-spangled Banner 378 

KING, HENRY. 

Bishop of Chichester, England ; bom in 1591 ; died ^n 1(569. 

Life ^ 727 

KINGSLEY, CHARLES. 

Born in Devonshire, England, June 12, 1S19. 

Sonir— 0, Mary, Go and Call the Cattle Home.. . 4t9 
The' Fishermen 475 

LAMB, CHARLES. 

Born in London, Feb. 18, 1775; died Dec 27, 1834. 

The Christening 120 

The Gipsy's Malison 125 

Childhood 1^ 

Old Familiar Faces 1S2 

H vpochondriacus 42^7 

Farewell to Tobacco 427 

Hester - C?? 

Lines on a Celebrated Picture 74^ 

LAMB, MARY. 

Born in London in 1765; died May 20, 1S47. 

Choosing a Name 12C 

LANDON, L.ETITIA ELIZABETH. (Mrs. Maclean .) 

Bom at Chelsea, Eng., in 1S02 ; died in Africa, Oct 16, 1838. 

The Shepherd Boy 18V 

Little Red Riding Hood l-*^ 

NightutSe*. ^^tl 

Awakening of Endymion 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



LANDOR, WALTER SAVAGE. 

Born in Warwickehire, Eng., in 1775 ; died in Florence, Sept. 
17, 1864. 

The Brier 42 

Children 130 

Maid's Lament. . . 28C 

Iphifcenia and Agamemnon 472 

To Macaulay 65G 

One Gray Hair CS9 

Memory 090 

An Old Poet to Sleep 720 

LEONIDAS, OF ALEXANDRIA. (Greek.) 

Born In the year 59; died in 129. 

On the Picture of an Infant. {Rogers's trans- 
lation.) 125 

LEYDEN, JOHN. 

Bern at Denholm, Scotland, Sept. 8, 1775 ; died in Batavia, 
E. L, Aug. 21, 1811. 

Sabbath Morning 17 

LOCKHART, JOHN GIBSON. 

Born in Glasgow in 1792 ; died at Abbotsford, Nov. 25, 1854. 

Broadswords of Scotland 871 

LOGAN, JOHN. 

Born in Scotland In 1748; dxl in Dec, 1788. 

To the Cuckoo 23 

Song — Yarrow Stream 454 

Heavenly Wisdom 712 

LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH. 

Boin in Portland, Me., Feb. 27, 1807. 

Flowers 45 

Twilight 82 

Seaweed aS 

Woods in Winter 110 

Afternoon in February 112 

The Children's Hour 155 

The Open Window 163 

The Fire of Driftwood 181 

Excelsior 392 

Wreck of the Hesperus 483 

Warden of the Cinque Ports 518 

The Village Blacksmith GOO 

The Arsenal at Springfield 605 

The Light of Stars 716 

The Slave Singing at Midnight 719 

Psalm of Life 722 

King Robert of Sicily 724 

The Footsteps of Ang> 8 ,.726 

LOVELACE, RICHARD. 

Born in Keut, England, in 1618; died in 1658. 

The Grasshopper 68 

To Lucasta 249 

To Althea, from Prison 250 

To Lucasta 250 

Orpheus to the Beasts. 299 

LOVER, SAMUEL. 

Born in Dublin in 1797 ; died in 1866. 

The Ancrel's Whisper 122 

Rorv O'Moro 293 

Molly Carew 284 

Widow Machrce 285 

-OWELL, JAMES RUSSELL. 

Born at Cambridge, Maas., Feb. 22, 1819. 

The Fountain 80 

To the Dcndelion 42 

The Birch Tree 65 

She Came and Went 163 

My Love .271 

Rhoecuii 672 

Hebe 680 



WW^U^ MARIA WHITE. 

Born at Watertown, Ma»g., July 8, 1821 ; died Oct. 27, 1853. 

Moming-Glory 



168 



I.DTHER, MARTIN. (German.) 

Bom at Eialeben, Saxony, Nov. 10, 148.3; died Feb. 18, 1546. 
Martyrs' Hymn. {W J. Fox''s translation.).. 775 
A Safe Stronghold. XT. Carlyle's translation.) 799 



LYLY, JOHN. ^*'" 

Born in Keut, England, about 1551 ; died about 1600 

Cupid and Campaspe ^45 

LYTTON, EDWARD ROBERT BULWER. 

Only son of Lord Lytton, born in Herts, Eng., Nov. 8, 18.31. 

Changes 313 

Aux Italiens 317 

MACAULAY, LORD. 

Born at Rothley Temple, England, in 1800; died in London, 
Dec. 28, 1859. 

Horatius 3.37 

Ivry 355 

Naseby 857 

McCarthy, dennis Florence. 

Bom in Cork, Ireland, about 1810. 

Summer Longings 15 

Irish Melody 266 

MACKAY, CHARLES. 

Born at Perth, Scotland, in 1812. 

What Might be Done 106 

McMASTER, guy HUMPHREY. 

Born at Bath, Steuben County, in 1S29. 

Carmen Bellicosum 377 

MAGINN, WILLIAM. 

Born in Corli, Ireland, about 1793; died Aug. 20, 1842. 

St. Patrick, of Ireland, my Dear 434 

The Irishman.... 435 

MALLETT, DAVID. 

Born in Scotland about 1700 ; died April 21, 1765. 

A Funeral Hymn 508 

MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER. 

Born at Canterbury, Eng., Feb. 26, 1564; died June 16, 1593. 

Milk-Maid's Song 254 

MARVELL, ANDREW. 

Born at Kingston-upon-Hull, England, Nov. 15,1620; died 
Aug. 16, 1678. 

A Drop of Dew 14 

The Garden 53 

The Lover to the Glow-worms 247 

Horatian Ode 858 

The Nymph Complaining 496 

Emigrants in Bermudas 767 

MENDOZA, LOPE DE. (Spanish.) 

Bom in Corrion de los Condes, Spain, Aug. 19, 1398 ; died 
March 26, 1458. 

Scrrana. {J. II. WifferCs translation.) 230 

MERCER, MARGARET. 

Born at Annapolis, Md., in 1791 ; died at Belmont, Va., Sept, 
19, 1847. 

Exhortation to Prayer 776 

MEREDITH, GEORGE. 

Born in Hampshire, England, about 1828. 

Love In the Valley 235 

MERRICK, JAMES. 

Bom ill England in 1720; died in 1769. 

PsalmXXIII 798 

MESSINGER, ROBERT HINCKLEY. 

Bom in Boston about 1807. 

Give me the Old 18* 

MILLER, THOMAS. 

Born in Gainsborough, England, Aug. 81, 1809. 

To George M 182 

The Grave of a Poetess 655 

The Happy Valley 700 

MILLER, WILLIAM. 

A native of Scotland, now living. 

Willie Winkie 120 

MILLIKEN, RICHARD ALFRED. 

Bom in the county of Cork, Ireland, in 1757 ; died In 1815. 

Groves of Blarney. ..486 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



MILMA:Nr, HENRY HAET. ^^ 

Born in London, Feb. 10, 1791. 

BrKlal Soncr 824 

Hymn— When our Heads 763 

Hvmn — Brother, thou art Gone T83 

Chorus 809 

MILNES, RICHAED MONCKTOK (Loed HotrGHTON.) 

Born in Yorkshire, England, in 1809. 

The Brook-Side 272 

MILTON, JOHN. 

Born in London, Dec. 9, 1608 ; died Nov. 8, 1674. 

Song : On May Morning lo 

To the Nightingale 51 

Sonnets 860 

Lycidas 504 

Comus, a Mask 556 

Epitaph on Shakespeare 688 

L' Allegro 661 

H Penseroso 663 

Sonnets 697 

On the Nativity 743 

MOIE, DAYID MACBETH. 

Bom at Musselburgh, Scotland, Jan. 5, 1798; died July 6, 1851. 

Casa Wappy 169 

MONTGOMEEY, ALEXANDER. 

Born in Ayrshire, Scotland, before 1550 ; died about 1611. 

Night is Nigh Gone 16 



MONTGOMEEY, JAMES. 

Bom at Irvine, Scotland, Nov. 4, 1771 ; died April 30, 1854. 

To a Daisy 

Evening in the Alps , 

Reign of Christ on Earth 

Gethsemane 

Stranger and his Friend , 

Humility , 

Field of the World , 

What Is Prayer 

Charity 

The Lord the Good Shepherd , 

" Thou, Gcd, seest me " , 

Time Past, Time Passing, Time to Come 



37 

igs 

749 
751 
755 
770 
774 
775 
778 
794 
811 
813 



MONTROSE, JAMES GRAHAM, Marquis of. 

Born at INIontrose, Scotland, in 1612 ; hanged at Edinburgh, 
May 21, 1651. 

My Dear and Only Love 255 

MOORE, CLEMENT C. 

Born in New York, July 15, 1779; died at Newport, R. T., 
July 10, 1863. 

Yisit from St. Nicholas 



142 



MOOEE, THOMAS. 

Bom in Dublin, May 28, 1779; died Feb. 25, 1852. 

The Last Rose of Summer 94 

Wreathe the Bowl ] 85 

Fill the Bumper Fair 186 

And doth not a Meeting like This 186 

Come send round the Wine 187 

Friend of my Soul 188 

Farewell! but wheneveryou Welcome the Hour 188 

The Journey Onward 194 

Go where Glory waits thee ! 264 

Fly to the Desert 264 

Fly not Yet 280 

Song 371 

The Harp that Once through Tara's Halls 372 

Peace to the Slumbcrers . .^ 372 

Oh ! Breathe not his Name 509 

Those Evening Bells , 622 

Canadian Boat Song 629 

Arranmore 701 

MORE, HENEY. 

Bora at Grantham, England, in 1614; died in 1687. 

Philosopher's Devotion 739 

Charity and Humility 769 

MOTHERWELL, WILLIAM. 

Bora in Glasgow, in 1797 ; died in 1835. 

They Come, the Merry Summer Months 17 

The Water I The Water 31 

Midnight Wind 109 



The Bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary 301 

Jeanie Morrison 302 

My Held is like to Eend, Willie .,,. 308 

Cavalier's Song S'^*^ 860- 

Covenanter's Battle-chant 36i 

When I beneath the cold, re<l Earth am Sleeping 520 

MOULTEIE, JOHN. 

A Clergyman of the Church of England ; born in Eng. about 1804. 

The Three Sons 1G4 

MUELLEE, WILHELM. (German.) 

Born at Dessau, Germany, Oct. 7, 1794 ; died Oct. 1, 1827. 

The Sunken City. {Mangaii's translation.),. 677 
MULOCK, DINAH MAEIA. 

Born in Staffordshire, England, in 1826. . , 

North Wind Ill 

Philip. My King 121 

Too Late 319 

NEELE, HENEY. 

Born in London in 1798 ; died (by his own hand) Feb. 7, 1828. 

Moan, moan, ye Dying Gales ! 

NEWTON, JOHN. 

Born in London in 1725 ; died there in 1807. 

Weeping Mary 751 

Jesus 756 

NOEL, THOMAS. 

Author of " Rhymes and Roundelays," London, 1841. 

The Pauper's Drive 502 

NOEEIS, JOHN. 

Born in England, 1657; died im 1711. 

Superstition 251 

The Eeply fl65 

NOETON, CAEOLINE. 

Born at Hampton Court, England, in 1808. 

To Ferdinand Seymour 123 

Mother's Heart . . 131 

We have been Friends together 1S3 

Allan Percy 318 

Love Not S28 

The King of Denmark's Eide 480 

OGILVIE, JOHN. 

Born in Aberdeen, Scotland, in 1733 ; died in 1814. 

Hymn from Psalm CXLYIII 802 

O'KEEFE, JOHN. 

Born in Dublin, June 24, 1747 ; died Feb. 4, 1833. 

I am a Friar of Orders Gray GSS 

OELEANS, CHAELES, Duke of. (French.) 

Born in Paris, May 26, 1391 ; died Jan. 4, 14G5. 

Fairest Thing in Mortal Eyes. {H. Cary'^s 
translation.) 322 

PALMEE, JOHN WILLIAMSON. 

Born in Baltimore, Md., about 1828. 

For Charlie's Sake 171 

PAESONS, THOMAS WILLIAM. 

Born in Boston, Mass., Aug. 18, 1819. 

Song for September 90 

Saint Peray 191 

The Groomsman to his Mistress 277 

On a Bust of Dante 392 

On a Lady Singing 628 

PEECIYAL, JAMES GATES. 

Born in Berlin, Conn., Sept. 15, 1795 ; died May 2, 1856. 

May 15 

The Coral Grove 85 

To Seneca Lake 86 

It is Great for our Country to Die 345 

PEECY, THOMAS. 

Born in Shropshire, Eng., in 1728; died as Bishop of Dromore 
Ireland, in 1811. 

Friar of Orders Gray 218 

PEEEY, NOEA. 

Lives in Providence, R. L 

Loss and Gain , ITl 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 
PIEILOSTRATUS. (Greek.) 

Born in Lemnos, Greece, about 182. 

To Colia. (J3. Jonson's translation.) 245 

FIEEPO:ffT, JOHN. 

B6rn in Litchfield, Conn., April 6, 1785; tlied Aug. 26, 1866. 

My Child 170 

Centennial Ode T74 

PINKNEY. EDWARD COATE. 

Born in London, Oct., 1802; died at Balti.3iore, April 11, 1828. 

Serenade 270 

A Health 273 

POE, EDGAR ALLAN. 

Born in Baltimore, Jan., 1811 ; died Oct. 7, 184s». 

Annabel Lee 815 

The Raven 584 

The Bells C21 

POPE, ALEXANDER. 

Bom in London, May 22, 1688 ; died May 30, 1744. 

The Rape of the Lock 406 

Messiah ... 74T 

Dying Christian to his Soul 781 

Universal Prayer 810 

PRAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTH. 

Bom in London in 1802 ; died July 15, 18i.9. 

The Vicar 442 

Twenty-eight and Twenty -nine 443 

Charade 656 

PRIEST, NANCY AMELIA W00D3URY. 

Rom n Hlnadale, N. H,, about 1834. 

Over the River 



730 



PRINGLE. THOMAS. 

Born at Blacklaw, Scotland, Jan. 5, 1789 ; died Dec. 5, 1834. 

The Lion and Giraffe 74 

Alar in the Desert 75 

PROCTER, ADELAIDE ANNE. 

Bom in London, about 1826 ; died there, Feb., 1834. 

Doubtiag Heart 107 

I'EOUT, FATHER. (Francis Maiiony.^ 

Born in Ireland about 1805 ; died in Paris, May 19, 1883. 

The Bells of Shandon 62C 

PRUDENTIUS, AURELIUS. (Latin.) 

Born in Spain, 348. 

Each Sorrowful Mourner. {J. M. NeaWs trans- 
lation.) 786 

4UARLE8, FRANCIS. 

Born at Stewards, near Rumford, Eng., in 1592 ; d. Sept. 8, 1644. 

Sonnets 757 

Fasting 768 

Delight in God only 812 

QUARLES, JOHN. 

Son of Francis Quarles; born in Essex, England, in 1624; died 
of the Plague in 1665. 

Divine Ejaculation StO 

RALEIGH, SIR WALTER. 

Bom in Budley, Eng., in 1552; beheaded (tct. 29, 1613. 

Milkmaid's Mother's Answer 254 

RAMSAY. ALLAN. 

Born in Crawford, Scotland, in 1685 ; died in 1753. 

Lochaber no More . 365 

RANDOLPH, THOMAS. 

Bom in Badby, England, in 1605 ; d'.ed Mirch 17, 1634. 

Song of Fairies. {Leigh IliinVs translation.) 536 
HEAD, THOMAS BUCHANAN. 

Bom in Cheater county, Penn., March 12, 1S22. 

Autumn's Sighing 97 

The Windy Night... i09 

ROBERTS, SARAH. 

Born in Portsmouth, N. H. ; lives in one of the W*5teru 
States. 

The Voice of the Grass ^,7 

ftOGERS, SAMUEL. 

Born near London, J uly 30 1783- died I] Lrndou, Dec. 18, 
1655. 



RONSARD, PIERRE. (French.) "^' 

Bom in Vendomois, France, in 1524; died in 1585. 

Return cf Spring. {Anonymous translation.) 10 
ROSCOE, WILLIAM. 

Bom at Mount Pleasant, near Live'^ool, 1753; died June 
30, 1831. 

- On the Death of Burns 651 

ROSCOE, WILLIAM STANLEY. 

Bom in England in 1782 ; died Octobo-, 1843. 

Dirge 512 

RYAN, RICHARD. 

A native of Scotland ; lived in the last century. 

Oh, Saw ye the Lass 



268 



AWfbh. 



331 



S ALIS, JOIIANN GAUDENZ YON. (Gebman.) 

Born in Grisons, Switzerland, in 1762. 

Song of the Silent Land. {LongfeUotc' 8 trans- 
lation.) 500 

SANDYS, GEORGE. 

Born in Bishopsthorpe, Eng., 1577 ; died in Kent, March, 1648. 

Psalm LXVI. 800 

Psalm XCII 801 

Psalm CXLVIII 803 

SAPPHO. (Greek.) 

Born in Lesbos in the sixth century before Christ. 

Blest as the Immortal Gods. {A. Phillips's 
translation.) 257 

SCHILLER, FREDERIC. (German.) 

Born in Marbach, Germany, Nov. 10, 1759 ; died May 9, 1805. 

Indian Death-Song. {FrothinghanC s trans- 
lation.) 375 

SCOTT. SIR WALTER. 

Bora in Edinburgh, Aug. 15, 1771 ; died Sept. 21, 1832. 

Jock of Hazeldean 233 

Lochinvar 234 

Song— The Heath this Night 259 

Song — A Weary Lot is Thine 294 

Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee 363 

Border Ballad 369 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 369 

Coronach 509 

" Proud Maisie is in the Wood " 633 

Hymn of the Hebrew Maid 76T 

SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM. 

Born in Stratford-on-Avon, England, about April 23, 1564 ; died 
April 23, 1616. 

Morning 18 

Song— The Greenwood Tree 58 

Blow, blow thou Winter Wind IIC 

Sonnets 175 

Sonnets 238 

Come away, Death 253 

Crabbed Age and Youth 279 

Dirge of Imogen 510 

Song of the Fairy 535 

Ariel's Songs 552 

Influence of Music 625 

Who is Sylvia? 631 

SHAKESPEARE and JOHN FLETCHER. 

Take, oh take those Lips Away 247 

SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE. 

Born in Field Place, England, Aug. 4, 1792 ; died July 8, 1822. 

To the Skj lark IS 

Arcthusa.! 29 

The Qu3stion 88 

The Cloud 77 

Ode to the West Wind 80 

Autumn— A Dirge 96 

To Night 104 

Dirge for the Year 113 

Lines to an Indian A ir 257 

Love's Philosophy 25S 

To 258 

Lament 521 

Lament 521 

To a Lady with a Guitar 627 

To Constintia Singing 6'28 

An E.xhortation 660 

Song— Rarely, rarely comest Thou 672 

Hymn to Intellectual Beauty 673 

Mutability 694 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 
SHENSTONE, WILLIAM. 

Bom in Hales-Owen, England, in 1714; died Feb. 11, 1763. 

The Schoolmistress 144 

sniELEY, ja:mes. 

Born in London, about 1594 , died Oct. 29, 1666. 

Yictorious Mf n of Earth 605 

Death's final Conquest 717 

SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP. 

Born in Penshurst, England, Nov. 29, 1554 ; died Oct. 7, 1586. 

Sonnets 240 

SIMMONS, B. 

Author of " Legends, Lyrics, and otter Poems," Edinb'ii, 1843. 

Stanzas to the Memory of Thomas Hood 519 

SIMONIDES. (Greek.) 

Born in Julis, island of Cos, b. c. 554; died b. c. 469. 

Danae. ( W. Peter''8 translation^) 152 

SKELTON, JOHN. 

Bom in Cumberland, England, toward the latter part of the 
15th century ; died June 21, 1529. 

To Mrs. Margaret Hnssey 631 

SMITH, CHAPvLOTTE. 

Bora in Sussex, England, in 1749 ; died in 1806. 

The Nightingale's Departure 5 

SMITH. HORACE. 

Born in London, Dec. 31, 1779 ; died July 12, 1839. 

Hymn to the Flowers 46 

On the Death of George the Third 517 

Address to the Mummy at Belzoni's Exhibition. 597 

SMITH, SYDNEY. 

Born in Essex, England, June 3, 1771 ; died in London, Feb. 
22, 1845. 

Receipt for Salad 426 

SMITS, DIRK. (DiTTCH.) 

Bom in Rotterdam, June 20, 1702; died April 25, 1752. 

On the Death of an Infant. {H. S. Van Dy'lc'8 
translation.) 161 

EOUl^HEY, CAROLINE BOWLES. 

Born in England, Dec. 6, 1786; died July 20, 1854. 

Autumn Flowers 93 

The Pauper's Death-bed 500 

The Last Journey 501 

SOTTTHEY, ROBERT. 

Bora in Bristol, England, Aug. 12, 1774 ; died March 21, 1843. 

The Holly Tree 110 

The Inchcape Rock „ 4S2 

Battle of Blenheim 604 

" My Days among the Dead " 723 

SOUTHEY, R. and C. 

Greenwood Shrift 721 

SPENCER, ROBERT WILLIAM. 

Born in England in 1770 ; died 1834.. 

To 183 

SPENSER, EDMUND. 

Bora in London in 1553; died Jan. 16, 1599. 

Sonnet 823 

Epithalamion 824 

STANLEY, THOMAS. 

Born at Cumberlow Green, Eng., in 1625 ; died April 12, 1678. 

The Tomb 253 

The Exequies 254 

STERLING, JOHN. 

Born at Kaines Castle, Scotland, July 20, 1806; died Sept. 18, 
1844. 

The Spice Tree 72 

The Husbandman 92 

To a Child 130 

Rose and the Gauntlet 304 

The Two Oceans 598 

Shakespeare 639 

3TERNII0LD, THOMAS. 

Bora in Hampshire, England; died Aug., 1549. 

Psalm XVIIL Part First 706 



STILL, JOHN. 

Born in Grantham, England, in 1543; died in 1607, 

GoodAle 401 

STODDARD, LAYINIA. 

Born in Guilford, Conn., June 29, 1787; died \x 1820. 

Sours Defiance.... 698 



STODDARD, RICHARD HENRY. 

Born in Hingham, Mass., July, 1825. 

The Sea 480 

The Two Brides 634 

There are Gains for all our Losses 

STODDART, THOMAS T. 

Author of •' Songs and Poems," Edinbu'gh, 1839. 

The Angler's Trysting Tree 



20 



5TCRY, WILLIAM W. 

Born in Salem, Mass., Feb. 19, 1819. 

The Violet 43 

STRODE, WILLIAM. 

Born in England in 1600 ; died in 1644. 

Music , 



625 



4 



SUCKLING, SIR JOHN. 

Born in Whitton, England, in 1609 ; died May 7, 1641, 

Song— Why so Pale 28( 

SURREY, LORD. 

Born in England about 1516 ; died Jan. 2' 1547. 

Description of Spring 1( 

The Means to Attain Happy Life 36: 

SURVILLE. CLOTILDE DE. (French.) 

Born in Vallon-sur-Ardeche, France, about 1405 ; died in 1495. 

The Child Asleep. {Longfelloio' a translatioT;.) 12S 
SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES. 

Author of " Atalanta in Calydon " (London, 1865), aad otbcr 
poems. 

" When the Hounds of Spring '^ 

SYLVESTER, JOSHUA. 

Bora in England in 1563; died in 1618. 

Contented Mind COS 

TANNAHILL, ROBERT. 

Born in Paisley, Scotland, June 3,1774; died May 17, 1810. 

The Midges Dance aboon the Burn 

TATE AND BRADY. 

Nahum Tate, bora in Dublin in 1652; died Aug. 12, 1715; 
Brady, bora in Bandon, Ireland^ Oct. 28, 1659 ; died May 20, 1726. 

Psalm C 801 

TAYLOR, BAYARD. 

Born in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, Jan. 11, 1825. 

The Arab to the Palm 73 

Storm Song 8*2 

The Phantom 514 

Hylas 569 

TAYLOR, HENRY. 

Bora in England, about 1805, 

Remembrance of the Hon. Edward Ernest 

Villiers 50( 

Song — Down lay in a Nook 68i 

TAYLOR, JEREMY. 

Born in Cambridge, England, in 1613; died Aug. 13, 1667. 

Of Heaven 791 

TENNYSON, ALFRED. 

Born in Lincolnshire, England, in 1810. 

Spring 

Sons of the Brook 

Bugle Song IOC 

Eveninsr 101 

Song— The Owl 10« 

Second Song, to the same 10( 

Lullaby llj 

Widow and Child... 175 

The Reconciliation 17S 

From " In Memoriam " 171 

Day Dream 221 

Lady Clare m 

The Letters 23' 



11 

83 



IISTDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Paee 

Come into the Garden, Maud 268 

Miller's Daughter 271 

Ask me no More 290 

Mariana in the South 293 

Locksley Hall 295 

Oh, that it were Possible 300 

I My Love has Talked 330 

Charge of the Light Brigade at Balaklava 384 

The May Queen 492 

Dirge 510 

( Break, Break, Break 525 

Days that arc no More 525 

Lady of Shallott 554 

Contemplate all this Work T02 

The Strife. ., 718 

Christmas 765 

, Oh yet we Trust 776 

Mary..., 7"r7 

TEREY, ROSE. 

Bom in Hartford, Conn., where she now lives. 

Trailing Arbutus 86 

Reve du Midi 64 

Then 310 

Fishing Song 524 

TERSTEEGE:JT, gee hard. (German.) 

Born in Westphalia, in 1697 ; was a ribbon-weaver. 

Divine Love. {J. Wesley'^s translation.) 779 

Hymn of Praise. {J. Wesley'' s translation.),. 794 

THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE. 

Born in Calcutta in 1811 ; died in London, Dec. 24, 1863. 

Ballad of BoulHabaisse 189 

The Mahogany Tree 194 

At the Church Gate 270 

White Squall 431 

Battle of Limerick 436 

Molony '3 Lamen*, 437 

Mr. Molony's Account of the Ball 438 

Age of Wisdom 688 

End of the Play 691 

rHUELOW, LOED. 

Born June 10, 1781 ; died June 3, 1829. 

Song to May 15 

Sonnet — The Crimson Moon 105 

Sonnet — To a Bird that Haunted Lake Laaken. 112 

Sonnet — Immortal Beauty 630 

Sonnet — The Nightingale is Mute 655 

Sonnet — Who Best can Paint 657 

TOPLADY, AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE. 

Born in Farnham, England, in 1740 ; died Aug. 11, 1778. 

Prayer, Living and Dying 758 

TRENCH, EICHAED CHENEYIX. 

Bom in England, Sept. 9; 1807. 

Harmosan 595 



UHLAND, JOHANN LUDWIG. (Gekman.) 

Bom in Tubingen, Germany, April 26, 1787 ; died there, Nov. 
13, 1862. 

The Passage. {Anonymous translation.) ISO 

The Castle by the Sea. {Longfellow's trans- 
lation^ 522 

The Lost Church. {Sarah IT. WMtman's 
translation ) 70C 

VAUGHAN, HENRY. 

Bom in Newton, England, in 1621 ; died in 1695. 

The Bee 70 

Rules and Lessons 737 

The Feast 756 

They are all Gone , . . 786 

Peace 791 

W.RY, JONES. 

Born in Salem, Mass., about 1812. 

Nature 83 

Tho Latter Rain 97 

The World 704 

Spirit Land 740 

VINCENTE, GIL. (Portuguese.) 

Bon. in Portugal, about 1482 ; died about 1537. 

The Nightingale. {J. Bowring''8 traiiBlation.) 65 
She is a Maid. {Iiongfellovfs translation ). . . 270 



YILLEGAS, MANUEL DE. ^*^ 

Bom in Najera, Spain, in 1598; died in 1669. 

The Mother Nightingale. {T. Roscoe 8 trans- 
lation.) 55 

YISSCHER, MARIA TESSELSCHADE. (Dutch.) 

Bom in Amsterdam, in 1594; died June 20, 1649. 

-The Nightingale. {J. Bovyring^s translaticm.) 55 
WALLER, EDMUND. 

Born in Coleshill, Eng., March 3, 1605 ; died Oct. 21, 1687. 

The Rose 43 

WALLER, JOHN FRANCIS. 

A Barrister of Dublin; born about 1810. 

Spinning- Wheel Song 231 

WALTON, IZAAK. 

Born in Stafford, Eng., Aug. 9, 1593; died Dec. 15, 1683. 

The Angler's Wish 22 

WARTON, THOMAS. 

Born in Basingstoke, Eng., in 1728 ; died May 21, 1790. 

Inscription in a Hermitage 62 

WASTELL, SIMON. 

Born in Westmoreland, Eng., about 1560; died abont 1630. 

Man's Mortality 727 

WATSON, THOMAS. 

Born in London; died in 1591 or 1592. 

Canzonet 249 

WATTS, ISAAC. 

Born in Southampton, Eng., July 17, 1674; died Nov. 25, 1748. 

"Jesus Shall Reign" 749 

Example of Christ 759 

Heavenly Canaan 788 

Psalm XIX 797 

Psalm XLYI 799 

Psalm LXV. Second Part 800 

Psalm LXXII. First Part 801 

Psalm CX YII 802 

Creator and Creatures 805 

WAUGH, EDWIN. 

A native of England ; now living. 

The Dule's i' this Bonnet o' Mine 232 

WELBT, AMELIA B. 

Born in St. Michaels, Mai-j'land, in 1821. 

The Old Maid 685 

WESLEY, CHARLES. 

Born in Lincolnshire, England, in 1708 ; died in 1788. 

Wrestling Jacob 754 

"Jesus, lover of my Soul" 760 

" Jesus, my Strength, My Hope " 760 

" Eternal Beam of Light Divine " 761 

" Friend of All " 762 

True Use of Music 7T3 

For Believers 773 

Desiring to Love 779 

Death 784 

"Thou God Unsearchable" 818 

WESTWOOD, THOMAS. 

Author of " Berries and Blossoms"— London, 1850. 

Under m v Window 156 

Little Belle 153 

WHITE, BLANCO 

Bom in Spain, about. 1773 ; died in England, May 20, 1840. 

To Night 106 

WHITE, HENRY KIRKE. 

Bom in Nottingham, March 21, 1785; died (^X.. 19, 1S06. 

To the Harvest Moon 105 

Solitude 521 

WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF. 

Bora in Haverill, Mass., in 1808. 

Ham pton Beach 85 

MaudMuller 305 

OurState 880 

Barbara Frietchie 8S1 

Ichabod 515 

Barclay of Ury 594 

To my Sister 684 

Burns 658 

Seed-Time and Harvest TIS 



IISDEX OF AUTHORS. 



• ^ILDE, EICHAED HENRY. ^^^^ 

Born in Dublin. Sept. 24, 1789; died in New Orleans, Sept. 
10, 1847. 

Stanzas— My Life is Like 694 

WILLIAMS, EGBERT FOLKSTONE. 

Author of " Shakespeare and his Friends." — London, 1838. 

Oh, fill the Wine-cup High 190 

rriLLIAMSON, WILLIAM CROSS. 

Born in Belfast, Me., Jan. 31, 1831. 

It Might Have Been 291 

WILLIS, NATHANIEL PARKER. 

Horn in PortL'ind, Me., Jan. 20, 1807. 

Belfrey Pigeon 67 

Saturday Afternoon 143 

The Annoyer 282 

\MLLMOTT, ROBERT ARIS. 

Author of various Religious Works ; also of " Poems " — Lon- 
don, 1850; died in Oxfordshire, May 28, 1863. 

Child Praying 160 

WILSON, JOHN. 

Born iu Paislev, Scotland, in 1788; died April 4, 1854. 

To a Sleeping Child 128 

WINSLOW, HARRIETT. 

Born in Portland, Me., about 1824. 

Why thus Longing 696 



WITHER, GEORGE. 

Born in Bentworth, Eng., June 11, 1583 •, died May 2, 1667. 

Christmas 195 

Shepherd's Resolution 2S0 

The Nymph's Song 637 

The Shepherd's Hun-ting 640 

In a Clear Starry Night 742 

Twelfth Day, o/the Epiphany 748 

Hymn — For Anniversary Marriage Dayo 770 

For a Widower or Widow. . . . .' '. 785 

Praise 795 

Poet's Hymn for Himself 795 \ 

WOLFE, CHARLES. 

Born in Dublin, Dec. 14, 1791 ; died Feb. 21, 1823. 

Burial of Sir John Moore 517 

Song— Oh say not that my Heai-t 695 

WOOD WORTH, SAMUEL. 

Eom in Scituate, Mass., Jan. 13, 1785: died Dec. 9, 1842. 

The Bucket 



606 



WORDSWORTH, WILLlAM. 

Born in Cockermouth, Eng., April 7,1770; died April 23, 1850. 

3^1 arch 

Morning in London 

The Cuckoo 

The Green Linnet 

To the Small Celandine 

Daflbdils 

To the Daisy 

To the same*^ Flower 

Nightingale and the Dove 

Yarrow Unvisited 

Tarrow Visited 

Yarrow Revisited 

Fidelity 

Influence of Natural Objects. 

Kitten and Falling Leaves 

To H. C, six years old 

The Pet Lamb 

Idle Shepherd Boys 

Her Eyes are Wild 

Lucy Gray 

We are SeVen 

Lucy 

To 

Sonnet 

Laodamia, 

t^onnets 

To a Highland Girl 

Solitary Reaper 

' She was a Phantom of Delight " 

At tlie Grave of Burns 

Ivcsolution and Independence 

The Tables turned 

Tlie Founlain 

Oie to Duty 

Ovie — Intimations of Immortality 

Laborer's Noonday Hymn 



12 

16 

23 

28 

34 

35 

38 

39 

63 

87 

88 

89 

91 

113 

123 

128 

133 

136 

152 

154 

157 

161 

272 

301 

319 

891 

632 

633 

634 

651 

658 

675 

C75 

095 

713 

767 



WOTTON, SIR HENRY. ^^ 

Born inBoughton Hall, Eng., March 30, 1568; d. Dec., 1639. 

Yersos in Praise of Angling 21 

You Meaner Beauties. 7 241 

Happy Life 711' 

WYAT, SIR THOMAS. 

Born in Allington C.-istle, Eng., in 1503; died Oct. 11, 1542. J 

An Earnest Suit 244 

XAYIER, ST. FRANCIS. (Latin.) | 

Born in Xavier, Navarre, in 1506 ; died Dec. 2, 1552. 

My God, I Love Thee. (Edward CancelPa 
translation.) 758 

YOUL, EDWARD. 

A writer in " Howitt's Journal "—Loudon, 1847-'8. 

Song of Spring 3Sji 

ZEDLITZ, JOSEPH CHRISTIAN. (Germix.) I 

Born in Austrian Silesia, Feb. 28, 1790. 

The Midnight Review. {Anonymous trans- 
lation.) 574 , 

ANONYMOUS. j 

The Useful Plough. (IStk Centnry, English.) . 68 
Rain on the Roof. (lOz'/i Century., American.) . 7T I 

The Owl. (17^/1 Century.) 106 

Little Boy Blue. {\^th Century, English.) ... 137 
Children in the Wood. (17^A Century^ Eng- 
lish.) 149 

Lady Ann Bothwell's Lament. {VUh Centm^y, 

Scotch.) 151 

To a Child. (19^ Oejitiiry, EngHsh. ) ICO 

My Playmates. (19th Century, English.). 162 

When shall we Three meet Again. (Vath Cen- ' 

tury^ English.) 17," 

How Stands the Glass Around. (18i^ Century^ 

English.) 187 

Sir Cauline. (\Wi Century, English.) I'JO 

Nut-Brown Maid, (loth Century, EnglisK).. %(A 
Young Beichan and Susie Pye. (15^/i Century, 

English.) 208 

Lord Lovel. (16^7i. Century, English.) 210 

Robin Hood and AUen-a-dale. (^bth Century., 

English.) 211 

Truth's Integrity. (lUJi Centuin/, English.) . . 212 
Spanish Lady's Love. (Ibth Century, Englisfi.') 215 
Seaman's Happy Return. (17^A Century, Eng- 
lish.) 215 

Bridal of Andalla. (Spanish, Lockhart's tran^i- 

lation.) 226 

Zara's Ear-rings. (Spanish, LockharCs iravn- 

lation.y. 230 

Wat ?h Sons. (KSth Century, German.) 232 

Old Story. " (19iA Century, Irish.) 232 

The White Rose. (Uth Centura/, English.)... 244 

Love not Me. (11th Century, English.) 253 

Kulnasatz, my Reindeer. ('lcela?idic, anony- 
mous translation.) 257 

Annie Laurie. (18^7t Century, Scotch.) 262 

Summer Days. (19^/i Century, English.) 269 

Oh ! tell me Love, the dearest Hour. (VJih Cen- 
tury, English.) 272 

Maiden's Choice. (IWt Century, English.). 2S0 
Dec^itfulness of Love. (11th Century., Eng- 
lish.) 281 

Coming Through the Rye. (l%th Century^ 

Scotch.) 2S4 

Love Unrequited. (IWi Century., American^) 2S0 
Waly, Walv, but Love be Bonnv. (loth Cen- 
tury, Scotch.) 302 ' 

Winifreda. (lUh Century, English.) 323 

Bull-fight of GazuL (Spanish^ Lockharfs 

translation.) 847 

Chevy Chase. (15th Centiu^y, English.) 349 ; 

Prince Eugene. (18^A Century, German, John 

ITiiglies's translation.) 35i 

When Banners are Waving. (17^A Century, 

Scotch.) 361 

Here's to the King, Sir I (l%th Century, Scotch.) 865 
Charlie is my Darling. (ISth Century. Scotch.) 866 
Gallant Grahams, (l^th Century, Scotch.).,., -366 
Shan Van Yocht. (IS^A Century, Irish.). ... 372 
God save the King. (17^/i Century, English.) 873 
Sea Fight. (192:/i Century ^ English.) 8S0 

I 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Paga 

Heir of Linne. (IQth Century, English:) 39T 

Dragon of Wantley {\lth Century, English, 

C. Patmore's 'version.) 400 

Jovial Beggar. (ISth Century, English.) 401 

Take thy old Cloak about Thee. (15^/i Century, 

EngUsh.) 402 

Malbrouck, {French, Father Proufs trans- 
lation.) 403 

Old and Young Courtier, {llth Century, Eng- 
lish.) 404 

Essence of Opera. {French, anonymous trans- 
lation.) 426 

St. Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes. {English.) 440 

Vicar of Bray. {\Sth Century, English.) 441 

Sir Patrick Spens. (15^/i Century, Scotch.).. . 447 

Child Noryce. {\hth Century, Scotch.) 448 

Fair Annie of Lochroyan. {\^th Century, 

Scotch.) 449 

Dowie Dens of Yarrow. {\btJi Century, 

Scotch.) 451 

Bare Willy Drowned in Yarrow. (15^A Cen- 
tury. Scotch.) 453 

Cruel Sister. {\bth Century, Scotch.) 454 

Lord Randal. {IMh Century, Scotch.) 456 

Edward, Edward. {IQth Century, Scotch.).... 456 

Twa Brothers. {\^th Century, Scotch.) 457 

Twa Corbies. {\X>th Century, Scotch.) 458 

Bonnie George Campbell. {Vlth Century, 

Scotch.) 458 

Lament of the Border Widow. (Xlth Century, 

Scotch.) 458 

Fair Helen. {lUh Century, Scotch.) 459 

V-Amentation for Celin. {Spanish, Lock.harVs 
tranelatioii.) 478 



Ye.ry Mournful Ballad. {Spanish, JSi/ron's 

translation.) 474 

Young Airly. {ISth Century, Scotch.) 4S9 

King Arthurs Death. (15^A Century, Eng- 
lish.) 529 

Thomas the Rhymer. {\Qth Century, Scotch.) 531 
The Wee, wee Man. (15^/i Century, Scotch.).. 532 
Merry Pranks of Kobin Good Fellow. {Vlth 

Century, English.) 533 

Fairy Queen. {11th Century, English.) 534 

Song of Fairies. {IWi Century, English.) 535 

Lords of Thule. {German, anonymous trans- 
lation.) 593 

Balder. {IWi Century, English.) 596 

Song of the Forge, {i^th Century, English.) . 60' 

The Lye. (17?;/^ Century, English.) 666 

Smoking Spiritualized. (17^^ Century, Eng- 
lish.) 67.^ 

Time's Cure. i^Wi Century, English.) 692 

Time is a Feathered Thing. (17^/i Century, 

English.) 693 

The Sturdy Rock. {11th Ce7itv-ry, EnglisJi.) . 717 

Life and Death. {IWi Century, English.) 720 

Lines on a Skeleton. (19i7i Century, Eng- 
lish.) 72S 

Evening. (19^/i Century, EnglishS 742 

" I Journey through a Desert " '. 753 

In the Desert of the Holy Land. (l;>jffc Cev^ 

tury, American.) 764 

Oh, Fear not Thou to Die. (19^A Century, 

English.) TSC 

New Jerusalem. {Latin, anonymous traits- 

lation.) 7St 

God is Love. {19th Century^ Englfeh,) Wf 



0X Depar^ 



^/fi 



^ARY- 



PART I. 



POEMS OF NATURE 



The world is too much witli us ; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : 
Little we see in nature that is ours ; 
We have given our hearts awiiy, a sordid boon ! 
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon ; 
The winds that will be howling at all hours. 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; 
For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; 
It moves us not. — Great God ! I'd rather be 
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea. 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 

WORDSWOETH. 



<^ RECEIVED ^< 



i^/BRARl 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



THE FLOWER A:^D THE LEAF. 

ARGUMENT. 

A gentiewomaa out ol an arbour in a grove, seetli a great 
companie of knights and ladies in a daunce upon the 
greene grasse ; the which being ended, they all kneele 
downe, and do honour to the daisie, some to the flower, 
and some to the Icafc. Afterward this gentlewoman 
learneth by one of these ladies the meaning hereof, 
which is this: They whicii honour the flower, a thing 
fading with ev^ry blast, are such as lookc after beau tie 
and worldly pleasure. Rut they that honour the leafe, 
which abideth with the roo:, notwithstanding the frosts 
and winter stortups, are toey wh>,h follow vertue and 
during qualities, without regard of worldlj respects. 

VTiiAN that Phebiis his chair of gold so hie 
Had whirled up the stcrry sL j iilofte, 
And in the boole was entred certainly : 
When shoures sweet of raine descended softe, 
Causing the ground, fele times and ofte. 
Up for to give many an wholsome aire, 
And every plaine was ycbthed faire 

With newe greene, and maketh smale flu res 
To springen here and there in fielde and 

mede ; 
So very good and wholsomo be the shoures, 
That it rcnueth that was olde and dede 
In winter time ; and out of every sede 
Springeth the herbe, so that every wight 
Of this season wexeth glad and light. 

And T, so glad of the season swete, 

Was happed thus upon a certaine night:--- 

As I lay in my bedde, sleei)e ful unmete 

Was unto me, but why that I ne might 

llest, I ne wist ; for there nas earthly wiglit. 

As I suppose, had nu:)re hertes ease 

Than I, for I nad sicknesse nor disease. 



Wherefore I mervaile greatly of my selfe 
That I so long withouten sleepe lay ; 
And up I rose three houres after twelfe, 
About the springing of the day : 
And I put on my geare and mine array, 
And to a pleasaunt grove I gan passe. 
Long er the bright sunne up risen was ; 

In which were okes grete, streight as a line, 
Under the which the grasse, so fresh of he we 
Was newly sprong; and an eight foot or nine 
Every tree wel fro his fellow grew. 
With branches brode, laden Avith leves newe, 
That sprongen out ay en the sunneshene, 
Some very redde, and some a glad light grene; 

Which, as me thought, was rig' it a pleasant 

sight ; 
And eke the briddes songe for to here 
Would have rejoiced any earthly wight; 
And I that couth not yet, in no manere, 
Ileare the nightingale of al the yeare, 
Ful busily herkened with herte and care, 
If I her voice perceive coud any where. 

And, at the last, a path of little bredo 
I found, that greatly had not used be; 
For it forgrowen was with grasse and wetide, 
That wel unneth a wighte might it se : 
Thought I, "This path some winder goth, 

parde ! " 
And so I followed, till it me brought 
To right a pleasaunt lierber, well y wrought. 

Thai benched was, and with turtcs newe 

Freshly turved, whereof the grene gr:;s. 

So smale, so thicke, so shorte, so fresh of he we. 



POEMS OF NATUEE. 



That most like unto grene wool, wot I, it was : 
Tlie hegge also that jede in compas. 
And closed in al the grene herbere, 
With sicamour was set and eglatere, 

Wrethen in fere so wel and cunningly, 

That every branch and leafe grew by mesure, 

Plaine as a bord, of an height by and by. 

I see never thing, I you ensure, 

So wel done ; for he that tooke the cure 

It to make, y trow, did all his peine 

To make it passe alle tho that men have seine. 

And shapen was tliis herber, roofe and alle, 
As a prety parlour ; and also 
The hegge as thicke as a castle walle. 
That who that list without to stond or go, 
Though he wold al day prien to and fro, 
He should not see if there were any wight 
Within or no ; but one within wel might 

Perceive all tho thot yeden there withoute 
In the field, that was on every side 
Covered with corn and grasse ; that out of 

doubt. 
Though one wold seeke alle the world wide, 
So rich a fielde cold not be espide 
On no coast, as of the quantity ; 
For of alle good thing there was plenty. 

And I that al this pleasaunt sight sie, 
Thought sodainely I felt so swete an aire 
Of the eglentere, that certainely 
There is no herte, I deme, in such dispaire, 
Ne with thoughtes froward and contraire 
So overlaid, but it should soone have bote, 
if it had ones felt this savour sole. 

And as I stood and cast aside mine eie, 

I ^'as ware of the fairest medler tree. 

That ever yet in alle my life I sie. 

As ful of blossomes as it might be ; 

Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile 

Fro bough to bough ; and, as him list, he eet 

Here and there of buddes and floures swete. 

And to the herber side was joyninge 
This faire tree, of which I have you tolde, 
And at the laste the brid began to singe. 
Whan he had eeten what he ete wolde. 
So passing swetely, that by manifolde 



It was more pleasaunt than I coud devise. 
And whan his song was ended in this wise, 

The nightingale with so rnery a note 
Answered him, that al the wood ronge 
So sodainely, that as it were a sote, 
I stood astonied ; so was I with the song 
Thorow ravished, that til late and longe, 
I ne wist in what j^lace I was, ]ie where ; 
And ayen, me •thought, she songe ever by 
mine ere. 

Wherefore I waited about busily. 
On every side, if I her might see ; 
And, at the laste, I gan ful wel aspy 
AY here she sat in a fresh grene laurer tree, 
On the further side, even right by me, • 
That gave so passinge a delicious smelle, 
According to the eglentere ful' well e. 

Whereof I had so inly great pleasure, 

That, as me thought, I surely ravished was 

Into Paradise, where my desire 

Was for to be, and no ferther passe 

As for that day ; and on the sote grasse 

I sat me downe ; for, as for mine entent, 

The briddes song was more convenient, 

And more pleasaunt to me by many folde, 
Than meat or drinke, or any other thinge. 
Thereto the herber was so fresh and colde. 
The wholesome savours eke so comfortinge, 
That, as I denied, sith the beginninge 
Of the world was never seene or than 
So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man. 

And as I sat, the brids hearkening thus, 
Me thought that I heard voices sodainely, 
The most sweetest and most delicious 
That ever any wight, I trowe truely, 
Heard in their life ; for the armony 
And sweet accord was in so good musiko, 
That the voice to angels most was like. 

At the last, out of a grove even by. 
That was right goodly and pleasaunt to sight 
I sie where there came, singing lustily, 
A world of ladies ; but, to tell aright 
Their grete beauty, it lieth not in my might 
iSTe their array ; neverthelesse I shalle 
Telle you a part, though I speake not of alle. 



THE FLOVfER AND THE LEAF. 



The surcotes wliite, of velvet wele sittinge. 

They were in cladde, and the semes echone, 

As it were a manere garnishinge, 

Was set with ernerauds, one and one, 

By and by ; but many a riche stone 

Was set on the purfiles, out of doute, 

Of collers, sieves, and traines round aboute. 

As grete pearles, rounde and orient, 

Diamondes fine, and rubies redde. 

And many another stone, of which I went 

The names now ; and everich on her hedde 

A rich fret of gold, which without dread, 

Was ful of stately riche stones set ; 

And every lady had a chapelet 

Dn her hedde of branches fresh and grene, 

50 wele wrought and so marvelously, 

That it was a noble sight to sene ; 

5ome of laurer, and some ful pleasauntly 

3ad chapelets of woodbind, and saddely 

5ome of agnus castus ware also 

jhapelets freshe ; but there were many of tho 

Chat daunced and eke songe ful soberly, 
3ut alle they yede in manner of compace ; 
■Jut one there yede in mid the company, 
>ole by her selfe ; but alle followed the pace 
?hat she kepte, whose hevenly figured face 
)0 pleasaunt was, and her wele shape person, 
?hat of beauty she past hem everichon. 

^nd more richly beseene, by many folde, 
ilie was also in every maner thing : 
)n her hedde ful pleasaunt to beholde, 
i crowne of golde rich for any king : 
I braunch of agnus castus eke bearing 
n her hand ; and to my sight truel;y 
'he lady was of the company. 

ind she began a roundel lustely, 

'hat ^'' Suse lefoyle^ devers moy^'''' men calle, 

'/Vne et monjoty couer est endormy^'*^ 
u d than the company answered alle, 
V ih voices sweet entuned, and so smale, 

Iliat me thought it the sweetest melody 
'hat ever I heard in my life sotlily. 
md thus they came, dauncinge and singinge, 
iio the mlddes of the mede echone, 
•elore the herber where I was sittinge; 

Ikud, God wot, me thought T was wel bigone ; 



For than I might a vise hem one by one, 
Who fairest was, who coud best dance ot 

singe, 
Or who most womanly was in alle thinge. 

They had not daunced but a little throwe. 

Whan that I hearde ferre of sodainely. 

So great a noise of thundering trumpes blowo. 

As though it should have departed the skie 

And, after that, within a while I sie. 

From the same grove where the ladies came 

oute. 
Of men of armes cominge such a route, 

As alle the men on earth had been assembled 
In that place, wele horsed for the nones, 
Steringe so fast, that al the earth trembled : 
But for to speke of riches and of stones. 
And men and horse, I trowe the large wones, 
Of Prestir John, ne all his tresory, 
Might not unneth have boght the tenth party 

Of their array : who so list heare more, 

I shal rehearse so as I can a lite. 

Out of the grove, that I spake of before, 

I sie come firste, al in their clokes white. 

A company, that ware, for their delite, 

Chai)elets freshe of okes serialle, 

N^ewly sprong, and trumpets they were alle. 

On every trumpe hanging a broad banere 
Of fine tartarium were ful richely bete ; 
Every trumpet his lordes armes here ; 
About their neckes, with great pearles sete. 
Collers brode ; for cost they would not lete, 
As it would seem, for their scochones echone, 
Were set aboute with many a precious stone 

Their horse harneis was al Avhite also. 
And after them next in one company, 
Came kinges of armes, and no mo, 
In clokes of wliite cloth of gold richely , 
Chapelets of greene on their hedes on hie ; 
The crownes that they on theii scochones ben 
Were sette with pearle, ruby, and saphere. 

And eke great diamondes many one . 
But al their horse harneis and other gere 
Was in a sute accordinge, everichon e, 
As ye have herd the foresaid truinpetes were: 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And by seeminge, they were nothing to lere, 
And their guidinge they did so manerly. 
And, after horn, came a great company 

Of herandes and pnrsevanntes eke, 
Arraied in clothes of white velvette, 
And, hardily, they were no thing to seke, 
How they on thera should the harneis sette ; 
And every man had on a chapelet ; 
Scochones, and eke harneis, indede, 
They had in siite of hem that fore hem yede. 

Next after hem came, in armour bright 
All save their heades, seemely knightes nine ; 
And every claspe and naile, as to my sight. 
Of their harneis were of rad golde fine ; 
With cloth of gold, and furred with ermine 
Were the trappoures of their stedes stronge, 
Wide and large, that to the ground did honge. 

And every bosse of bridle and paitrel 
That they had, was worth, as I wold wene, 
A thousand pounde ; and on their heddes, wel 
Dressed, were crownes of laurer grene, 
The best made that ever I had sene ; 
And every knight had after him ridinge 
Three henchemen on hem awai tinge. 

Of whiche every first, on a short tronchoun, 
His lordes helme bare, so richly dight, 
That the worst was worthe the ransoun 
Of any king ; the second a shield bright 
Bare at his backe ; the thred bare upright 
A mighty spere. full sharpe ground and kene, 
And every childe ^vixve of leaves grene 

xV fresh chapelet upon his haires bright ; 
And clokes white of fine velvet they ware ; 
Their steedes trapi)ed and raied. right, 
Without difference, as their lordes were ; 
And after hem, on many a fresh cor sere. 
There came of armed knightes such a route, 
That tliey besprad the large field aboute. 

And al they ware, after their degrees, 
Chapelets newe made of laurer grene; 
Some of the oke, and somo of other trees, 
Some in their bonds bare boughes shene, 
Some of laurer, and some of okes kene, 



Some of hauthorne, and some of the wood 

binde. 
And many mo which I had not in minde. 

And so they came, their horr^s freshely ster 

inge, 
With bloody sownes of liir trompes loude; 
There sie I many an uncouth disguisinge 
In the array of these knightes proude, 
And at the last, as evenly as they coude. 
They took their places in middes of the mede, 
And every knight turned his horses hede 

To his fellow, and lightly laid a spere 

In the rest; and so justes began 

On every part about, here and there ; 

Some brake his spere, some drew down liora 

and man ; 
About the field astray the steedes ran ; 
And, to behold their rule and governaunce. 
I you ensure, it was a great pleasaunce. 

And so the justes laste an houre and more ; 
But tho that crowned were in laurer grene 
Wanne the prise ; their dintes was so soro, ' 
That there was none ayent hem might sustei;.t 
And the justinge al was left off clene, ; 

And fro their horse the ninth alight anone, i 
And so did al the remnant everichone. j 

And forth they yede togider, twain and twain ' 
That to beholde it was a worthy sight, 
Toward the ladies on the grene plain. 
That songe and daunced, as I said now right 
The ladies, as soone as they goodly might, 
They brake of both the song and daunce. 
And yede to meet hem with ful glad sem 
blaunce. 

And every lady tooke, ful womanly, 
By the bond a knight, and forth they yede 
Unto a faire laurer that stood fast by, 
With levis lade, the boughes of grete brede : 
And to my dome there never was, indede, 
Man that had scene halfe so faire a tre ; 
For underneath there might it well have bo 

An hundred persones, at their owne plesaunce 
Shadowed fro the hete of Phebus bright. 
So that they sholde have felt no grevaunce 
Of raine ne liaile that hem hurte might. 
The savoar eke rejoice would any wight 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



That had be sicke or melancolious, 
It. was so very good and vertuous. 

And with great reverence they inclined lowe 
To the tree so soote, and faire of hewe ; 
And after that, within a little throwe, 
They began to singe and daunce of newe 
Some songe of love, some plaininge of untrewe, 
Environinge the tree that stood upright ; 
And ever yede a lady and a knight. 

And at the last I cast mine eye aside, 
And was ware of a lusty company 
That come rominge out of the field wide, 
Hond in bond a knight and a lady ; 
The ladies all in surcotes, that richely 
Purfiled were with many a riche stone, 
And every knight of grene ware mantles on, 

Embrouded wel so as the surcotes were : 
And everich had a chapelet on her hedde, 
Which did right well upon the shining here. 
Made of goodly floures white and redde ; 
The knightes eke, that they in honde ledde, 
In isute of hem ware chapelets everichone, 
And before hem went minstrel es many one. 

As harpes, pipes, lutes, and sautry, 

Alle in greene ; and on their heades bare, 

Of divers floures, made ful craftely,- 

Al in a sute, goodly chapelets they ware ; 

And, so dauncinge into the mede they fare. 

In mid the which they foun a tuft that was 

Al oversprad with floures in compas. 

Whereto they enclined everichone 

With great reverence, and that ful humbly ; 

And, at the laste, there began anono 

A lady for to singe right womanly 

A bargeret in praising the daisie; 

For, as me thought, among her notes swete. 

She said ^''Si douce est la Mar g arete.'''' 

Than they alle answered her in fere, 
; So passingely wel, and so pleasauntly, 
That it was a blisful noise to here. 
But, I not how, it happed sodainely 
As about noone, the sunne so fervently 
Waxe bote, that the prety tender floures 
Had lost the beauty of hir fresh coloures. 



Forshronke with heat ; the ladies eke to-brent 
That they ne wiste where they hem might 

bestowe ; 
The knightes swelt, for lack of shade nie shent ; 
And after that, within a little throwe. 
The wind began so sturdily to blowe. 
That down goeth all the floures everichone, 
So that in al the mede there left not one ; 

Save such as succoured were among the leves 
Fro every storme that might hem assaile, 
Growinge under the liegges and thicke greve?^: 
And after that there came a storme of haile 
And raine in fere, so that, withouten faile, 
The ladies ne the knightes nade o threed 
Drie on them, so dropping was hir weed. 

And whan the storm was cleane passed away, 
Tho in white that stoode under the tree, 
They felte nothing of the grete afii*ay, 
That they in greene withoute had in ybe ; 
To them they yede for routhe and pite. 
Them to comforte after their great disease, 
So faine they were the helplesse for to ease. 

Than I was ware how one of hem in grene 
Had on a crowne, rich and wel sittinge ; 
Wherefore I demed wel she was a queue, 
And tho in grene on her were aw ait in ge ; 
The ladies then in white that were comminge 
Toward them, and the knightes in fere. 
Began to comforte hem, and make hem chere 

The queen in white, that was of grete beauty 
Took by the hond the queen that was in grene 
And said, " Suster, I have right great pity 
Of your annoy, and of the troublous tene, 
Wherein ye and your company have bene 
So longe, alas ! and if that it you please 
To go with me, I shall do you the ease, 

'^ In all the pleasure that I can or may ; " 
AYhereof the other, humbly as she might, 
Thanked her ; for in right il array 
She was with storm and heat, I you behight 
And every lady, then anone right, 
That were in white, one of them took in grent 
By the hond; which wlian the knights liad 
sene. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



1 



In like wise ech of them tooke a knight 
Cladde in greene, and forthe with hem they 

fare, 
To an hegge, where they anon right, 
To make their justes, they wolde not spare 
Bonghes to hewe down, and eke trees square, 
Wherwith they made hem stately fires grete, 
To drye their clothes that were wringinge 

wete. 

And after that, of herbes that there grewe. 
They made, for blisters of the sunne bren- 

ninge, 
Very good and wholesome ointmentes new. 
Wherewith they yede the sick fast anointinge ; 
And after that they yede about gaderinge 
Pleasaunt salades, which they made hem ete. 
For to refreshe their great unkindly hete. 

The lady of the Leafe than began to praye 
Her of the Floure (for so to my seeminge 
They sholde be, as by their array e) 
To soupe with her, and eke, for any thinge. 
That she shold with her alle her people bringe : 
And she ayen, in right goodly manere. 
Thanked her of her most friendly chere. 

Saying plainely, that she would obaye 
With all her herte, all her commaundement ; 
And then anon, without lenger delaye, 
The lady of the Leafe hath one ysent, 
For a palfray, after her intent. 
Arrayed wel and faire in harneis of gold. 
For nothing lacked, that to him long shold. 

And after that, to al her company 
She made to purveye horse and every thinge 
That they needed ; and than ful lustily, 
Even by the herber where I was sittinge 
They passed alle, so pleasantly singinge. 
That it would have comforted any wight. 
But than I sie a passing wonder sight ; 

For than the nightingale, that al the day 
Had in the laurer sate, and did her might 
The whole service to singe longing to May, 
All sodainely began to take her flight ; 
And to the lady of the Leafe, forthright. 
She flew, and set her on her bond softely. 
Which was a thing I Tii.'^veied of gretely. 

The goldfinch eke, that fro the medler tree 
Was fled for heat into the bushes colde. 



Unto the lady of the Floure gan flee, 
And on her bond he sit him as he wolde. 
And pleasauntly his winges gan to fold ; 
And for to singe they pained hem both, as sore J 
As they had do of al the day before. 

And so these ladies rode forth a great paoo^ 
And al the rout of knightes eke in fere ; 
And I that had seen al this wonder case, 
Thought I wold assaye in some manere. 
To know fully the trouth of this matere ; 
And what they were that rode so pleasauntly. 
And whan they were the herber passed by, 

I drest me forth, and happed to mete anoi/c 
Right a faire lady, I do you ensure ; 
And she came riding by her self e alone, 
Alle in white; with semblance ful demure, 
I salued her, and bad good aventure 
Might her befalle, as I coud most humbly ; 
And she answered, '' My doughter, gra-| 
mercy ! " 

"Madame," quoth I, "if that I durst enquer<- 
Of you, I would faine, of that company, 
Wite what they be that past by this arbere^^ ^ 
And she ayen answered right friendely : — 
"My faire doughter, alle tho that passed 

here by 
In white clothing, be servaunts everichone 
Unto the Leafe, and I my selfe am one. 

"See ye not her that crowned is," quoth she, 
"Alle inwhite?"— "Madame," quoth I, "yes:' , 
"That is Diane, goddesse of chastite ; 
And for because that she a maiden is, 
In her honde the braunch she beareth this, 
That agnus castiis men calle properly ; 
And alle the ladies in her company, 

"Which ye se of that herbe chapelets weare, 
Be such as ban kept alway hir maidenheed : 
And alle they that of laurer chapelets beare, 
Be such as hardy were, and manly in deed,— 
Victorious name which never may be dede ! 
And alle they were so worthy of hir bond. 
In hir time, that none might hem withstond 

"And tho that weare chapelets on their hedf 
Of fresh woodbinde, be such as never were 
To love untrue in word, thought, ne dede. 
But aye scedfast ; ne for pleasaunce, ne fere, 



I 



I 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 



Though that they sliould their hertes all to- 

tere, 
Would never flit but ever were stedfast, 
Til t]\at their lives there asunder brast." 

'•'Now faire Madame," quoth I, "yet I would 

praye 
1 our ladiship, if that it mighte be, 
That I might knowe by some maner wave, 
(Sith that it hath liked your beaute, 
The trouth of these ladies for to tell me ;) 
What that these knightes be in rich armour. 
And what tho be in grene and weare the flour? 

"And why that some did reverence to that 

tre, 
And some unto the plot of floures faire ? " 
"With right good will, my faire doughter," 

quoth she, 
" Sith your desire is good and debonaire ; 
The nine crowned be very exemplaire 
Of al honour longing to chivalry ; 
And those certaine be called the Nine Worthy, 

**Which ye may see now ridinge alle before. 
That in hir time did many a noble dede. 
And for their Avorthines ful oft have bore 
The crowne of laurer leaves on their hede. 
As ye may in your olde bookes rede ; 
And how that he that was a conquerour. 
Had by laurer alway his most honour. 

"And tho that beare bowes in their honde 
Of the precious laurer so notable. 
Be such as were, I wol ye understonde, 
Noble knightes of the round table. 
And eke the Douseperis honourable, 
Which they beare in signe of victory ; 
It is witnesse of their deedes mightily. 

* "Eek there be knightes olde of the garter, 
That in hir time did right worthily ; 
And the honour they did to the laurer, 
Is for by it they have their laud wholly. 
Their triumph eke, and martial glory ; 
Which unto them is more parfite richesse. 
Than any wight imagine can or gesse. 

"For one leafe, given of that noble tree 
To any wight that hath done worthi]y. 
And it be done so as it ought to be, 
Cs more honour than any thing earthly; 



Witnes of Eome that founder was truly 
Of alle knighthood and deeds marvelous ; 
Record I take of Titus Livius,. 

"And as for her that crowned is in green*3. 
It is Flora, of these floures goddesse ; 
And all that here on her awaiting beene, 
It are such folk that loved idlenesse. 
And not delite in no businesse. 
But for to hunte and hauke, and pleye m 

medes. 
And many other suchlike idle dedes. 

"And for the great delite and pleasaunce 
They have to the floure, and so reverently 
They unto it do such obeisaunce, 
As ye may se." — " Now faire Madame,'' 

quoth I, 
"If I durst aske, whaL is the cause and why, 
That knightes have the ensigne of honour, 
Rather by the leafe than the floure ? " 

" Soothly, doughter," quod she, "this is the: 

trouth : — 
For knightes ever should be persevering. 
To seeke honour without feintise or sloutb, 
Fro wele to better in all manner thinge ; 
In signe of wiiich, with leaves aye lastinge, 
They be rewarded after their degre, 
Whose lusty grene may not appaired be, 

" But aie keping their beaute fresh and 

greene ; 
For there nis storme that may hem deface, 
Ilaile nor snow, winde nor frostes kene ; 
Wherfore they have this property and grace. 
And for the floure, within a little space 
Wolle be lost, so simple of nature 
They be, that they no grcevance may endure ; 

"And every storme will bio we them sooiiq 

awaye, 
Ne they laste not but for a sesone ; 
That is the cause, the very trouth to saye, 
That they may not, by no way of resone. 
Be put to no such occupation." 
"Madame," quoth I, 'Svith al mine whok 

servise 
I thanke you now, in my most humble wise* 

"For now I am ascertained thurghly, 
Of every thing that I desired to knowe." 
"I am right glad that I have said, sotbly. 



10 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ought to your pleasure, if ye wille me trowe," 
Quod she ayen, "but to whom do ye owe 
Your service? And which wille ye honoure, 
Tel me I pray, this yere, the Leafe or the 
Floure?" 

"" Madame," quoth I, " though I he least 

worthy. 
Unto the Leafe I owe mine obserTaunce : " 
"That is," quod she, "right wel done cer- 
tainly ; 
And I pray God to honour you avaunce. 
And kepe you fro the wicked remembraunce 
Of Malebouche, and all his crueltie, 
And alle that good and well conditioned be. 

"For here may I no lenger now abide, 

I must followe the great company. 

That ye may see yonder before you ride." 

And forth, as I couth, most humbly, 

I tooke my leve of her, as she gan hie 

After them as faste as ever she might. 

And I drow homeward, for it was nigh night. 

And put al that I had seene in writing. 
Under support of them that lust it to rede. 
little booke, thou art so unconning, 
Eow darst thou put thy self in prees for drede? 
It is wonder that thou wexest not rede ! 
Sith that thou wost ful lite who shall behold 
Thy rude langage, ful boistously unfold. 

Geoffrey Chatjcek. 



DESCKIPTIO^ OF SPEKSTG. 

The soote season, that bud and bloom forth 
brings, 
With green hath clad the hill, and eke the 
vale ; 
The nightingale with feathers new she sings; 
The turtle to lier make hath told her tale. 
Summer is come, for every spray now springs ; 
The hart hath hung his old head on the 
pale. 
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; 

The fishes flete with new repaired scale ; 
The adder all her slough away she flings ; 
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale ; 



The busy bee her honey now she mings ; 

Winter is worn that was the flowres' bale.| 
And thus I see among these pleasant things 
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springa 1 

LOBD SmJliW. 



THE AiPvS OF SPEmG. 

Sweetly breathing, vernal air. 
That with kind warmth doth repair 
Winter's ruins ; from whose breast 
All the gums and spice of th' East 
Borrow theu^ perfumes ; whose eye 
Gilds the morn, and clears the sky ; 
Whose disheveled tresses shed 
Pearls upon the violet bed ; 
On whose brow, with calm smiles dres! 
The halcyon sits and builds her nest : 
Beauty, youth, and endless spring. 
Dwell upon thy rosy wing ! 

Thou, if stormy Boreas throws 
Down whole forests when he blows. 
With a pregnant, flowery birtli, 
Canst refresh the teeming earth. 
If he nip the early bud ; 
If he blast what's fair or good ; 
If he scatter our choice flowers ; 
If he shake our halls or bowers ; 
If his rude breath threaten us. 
Thou canst stroke great ^olus, 
And from him the grace obtain, 
To bind him in an iron chain. 

Thomas Carj:v/ 



EETUEIST OF SEEING. 

God shield ye, heralds of the spring, 
Ye faithful swallows, fleet of wing, 

Houps, cuckoos, nightingales, 
Turtles, and every wilder bird. 
That make your hundred chirpings heard 

Through the green woods and dales. 

God shield ye, Easter daisies all. 
Fair roses, buds, and blossoms small. 



EARLY SPRING. 



11 



And he whom erst the gore 
Of Ajax and Narciss did print, 
Ye wild thyme, anise, balm, and mint, 

I welcome ye once more. 

God shield ye, bright embroidered train 
Of butterflies, that on the plain. 

Of each sweet herblet sip ; 
And ye, new swarms of bees, that go 
Where the pink flowers and yellow grow. 

To kiss them with your lip. 

A hundred thousand times I call 
A hearty welcome on ye all : 

This season how I love — 
This merry din on every shore — 
For winds and stoims, whose sullen roar 

Forbade my steps to rove. 

PiERKE EoNSARD (French). 
Anonymous Translation. 



JSPRING 

Dip down upon the northern shore, 
O sweet new year, delaying long ; 
Thou doest expectant nature wrong, 

Delaying long ; delay no more. 

What stays thee from the clouded noons. 
Thy sweetness from its proper place ? 
Can trouble live with April days, 

Or sadness in the summer moons ? 

Bring orchis, bring the fox-glove spire. 
The little speedwell's darling blue. 
Deep tulips dashed with fiery dew. 

Laburnums, droi)ping-wells of fire. 

thou, new year, delaying long. 
Delay est the sorrow in my blood, 
That longs to burst a frozen bud, 

And flood a fresher throat with song. 



N"ow fades the last long streak of snoT^ 
Now burgeons every maze of quick 
About the flowering squares, and thick 

By ashen roots the violets blow. 

Now rings the woodland loud and long. 
The distance takes a lovelier hue, 



And drowned in yonder living blue 
The lark becomes a sightless song. 

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, 

The flocks are whiter down the vale, ^ 
" And milkier every milky sail. 
On winding stream or distant sea ; 

Where now the seamew pipes, or dives 
In yonder greening gleam, and fly 
The happy birds, that change their sky 

To build and brood, that live their fives 

From land to land ; and in my breast 
Spring wakens too : and my regret 
Becomes an April ^dolet, 

And buds and blossoms like the rest. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



''WHEN THE HOUNDS OF SPRING.'' 

When the hounds of spring are on winter's 
traces. 

The mother of months in meadow or plain 
Fills the shadows and windy places 

With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain ; 
And the brown bright nightingale amorous 
Is half assuaged for Itylus, 
For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces; 

The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. 

Come with bows bent and with emptying of 
quivers, 
Maiden most perfect, lady of light. 
With a noise of winds and many rivers, 

With a clamor of waters, and with might ; 
Bind on thy sandals, thou most fleet, 
Over the splendor and speed of thy feet ! 
For the faint east quickens, the wan west 
shivers, 
Round the feet of the day and the feet of 
the night. 

Where shaL wc find her, how shall we sing 
to her, 
Fold our hands round her knees and cling? 
Oh that man's heart were as fire and could 
spring to her, 
Fire, or the strength of the streams tha^ 
spring I 



r2 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



For the stars and the winds are unto her 
A.S rannent, as songs of the harp-player ; 
For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her, 
And the south-west wind and the west 
wind sing. 

For winter's rains and ruins are over, 

And all the season of snows and sins ; 
The days di\ading lover and lover, 

The hght that loses, the night that wins: 
And time rememhered is grief forgotten, 
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten. 
And in green underwood and cover 
Blossom by blossom the spring begins. 

The full streams feed on flower of rushes, 
Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot, 
The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes 

From leaf to flower and flower to fruit ; 
And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire, 
And the oat is heard above the lyre. 
And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushes 
The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root. 

iVnd Pan by noon and Bacchus by night. 
Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid. 
Follows with dancing and fills with delight 

The Maenad and the Bassarid ; 
And soft as lips that laugh and hide, 
The laughing leaves of the trees divide, 
And screen from seeing and leave in sight 
The god pursuing, the maiden hid. • 

Tlie ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair 
Over her eyebrows shading her eyes ; 

The wild vine slipping down leaves bare 
Her bright breast shortening into sighs ; 

The wild vine slips with the weight of its 
leaves. 

But the beiTied ivy catches and cleaves 

To the limbs that glitter, the feet that scai-e 
The wolf that follows, the fawn that flies. 

Algernon Charles Swixbijrne. 



MARCH. 

The cock is crowing, 
The stream is flowing. 
The small birds twitter. 
The lake doth glitter, 
The green field sleeps in the sun ; 



The oldest and youngest 
Are at work with the strongest ; 
The cattle are grazing, 
ITieir heads never raising; 
There are forty feeding like on'- ! 

Like an army defeated 

The snow hath retreated, 

And now doth fare ill 

On the top of the bare hill ; 
The ploughboy is whooping — anon— anoi) 

There 's joy on the mountains ; 

There 's hfe in the fountains ; 

Small clouds are sailing. 

Blue sky prevaihng ; 
The rain is over and gone ! 

William Words v,\>p/ru 



APRIL. 



Lessons sweet of Spring returning, 

Welcome to the thoughtful heart ! 
May I call ye sense or learning, 

Instinct pure, or heaven-taught ai't 2 
Be your title what it may. 
Sweet and lengthening April day, 
While with you the soul is free. 
Ranging wild o'er hill and lea ; 

Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, 

To the inward ear devout. 
Touched by light with heavenly warninji, 

Your transporting chords ring OTit. 
Every leaf in every nook. 
Every wave in every brook. 
Chanting with a solemn voice, 
Minds us of our better choice. 

iSTeeds no show of mountain hoary, 

Winding shore or deepening glen, 
Where the landscape in its glory, 

Teaches truth to wandering men. 
Give true hearts but earth and sky, 
And some flowers to bloom and die, 
Homely scenes and simple views 
Lowly thoughts may best infuse. 

See tlie soft green willow springing 
Where the waters gently pass, 

Every way her free arms flinging 
O'er the moss and reedy grass 



APRIL. 



IS 



Long ere winter blasts are fled, 
See her tipped with vernal red, 
And her kindly flower displayed 
Ere her leaf can cast a shade. 

Though the rndest hand assail her. 

Patiently she droops awhile, 
But when showers and breezes hail her. 

Wears again her willing smile. 
Thus I learn contentment's power 
From the slighted willow bower, 
Ready to give thanks and Hve 
On the least that Heaven may give. 

If, the quiet brooklet leaving, 

Up the stormy vale I wind, 
Haply half in fancy grieving 

For the shades I leave behind, 
By the dusty wayside dear, 
i^ightingales with joyous cheer 
Sing, my sadness to reprove, 
Gladlier than in cultured grove. 

Wliere the thickest bows are twining 
Of the greenest, darkest tree. 

There they plunge, the light declining — 
All may hear, but none may see. 

Fearless of the passing hoof. 

Hardly will they fleet aloof; 

So they live in modest ways. 

Trust entire, and ceaseless praise. 

John Keble. 



ALMOXD BLOSSOM. 

Blossom of the almond-trees, 
April's gift to April's bees. 
Birthday ornament of spring. 
Flora's fairest daughterhng ; — 
Coming when no flowerets dare 
Trust the cruel outer air ; 
When the royal king-cup bold 
Dares not don his coat of gold ; 
And the sturdy blackthorn spray 
Keeps his silver for the May ; — 
Coming when no flowerets would. 
Save thy lowly sisterhood, 
Early violets, blue and white, 
Dying for their love of liglit. 



Almond blossom, sent to teach us 

That the spring-days soon will reach m 

Lest, with longing over-tried, 

We die as the \'iolets died — 

Blossom, clouding all the tree 

With thy crimson broidery, 

Long before a leaf of green 

On the bravest bough is seen ; 

Ah ! when winter winds are swinging 

All thy red bells into ringing. 

With a bee in every bell, 

Almond bloom, we greet thee well. 

Edwin Aekolu 



1 



SPPv^G. 

Behold the young, the rosy Spring, 
Gives to the breeze her scented wing. 
While virgin graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way. 
The murmuring billows of the deep 
Have languished into silent sleep ; 
And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave 
Their plumes in the reflecting wave ; 
While cranes from hoary winter fly 
To flutter in a kinder sky. 
Now the genial star of day 
Dissolves the murky clouds away, 
And cultured field and winding stream 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 

Kow the earth prolific swells 
With leafy buds and flowery bells; 
Gemming shoots the Olive twine ; 
Clusters bright festoon the vine ; 
All along the branches creeping. 
Through the velvet foliage peeping, 
Little infant fruits we see 
I^ursing into luxury. 



Translation of Thomas Moore. 



ASAOREOIv 



SONG : ON MAY MOPvNING. 

Now the bright morning star, day's harbingci, 
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with 

her 
The flowery May, who from her green lap 

throws 
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. 



14 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire 
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; 
Woods and groves are of thy dressing, 
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we salute thee with our early song, 
Ajid welcome thee, and wish thee long. 

John Miltcn. 



Congealed on earth, but does, dissolving, rnu 
Into the glories of the Almighty sun. 

Andrew Marvel r* 



A DROP OF DEW. 

See how the orient dew, 
bhed from the bosom of the morn 
Into the blowing roses, 
(Yet careless of its mansion new 
For the clear region where 'twas born) 
Round in itself incloses. 
And in its httle globe's extent 
Frames, as it can, its native element. 

How it the purple flower does slight 

Scarce touching where it lies ; 
But gazing back upon the skies. 
Shines with a mornful hght. 
Like its own tear, 
fVicause so long divided from the sphere ; 
Restless it rolls, and unsecure. 

Trembling, lest it grow impure ; 
Till the warm sun pities its pain, 
And to the skies exhales it back again. 

So the soul, that drop, that ray. 
Of the clear fountain of eternal day. 
Could it within the human flower be seen, 
Remembering still its former height, 
Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green, 
And, recollecting its own light. 
Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express 
The greater heaven in a heaven less. 
In how coy a figure wound. 
Every way it turns away ; 
So the world excluding round, 
Yet recei\ing in the day. 
Dark beneath, but bright above ; 
Here disdaining, there in love. 
How loose and easy hence to go ! 
How girt and ready to ascend ! 
Moving but on a point below, 
It all about does upwards bend. 
Such did the manna's sacred dew distil, 
White and entire, although congealed and 
chill— 



SOXG. 
PncEBus, arise. 
And paint the sable skies 
With azure, white, and red. 
Rouse Memnon's mother trom her Tython'a 

bed. 
That she thy career may with roses spread, 
The nightingales thy coming each where sing 
Make an eternal spring. 
Give life to this dark world which lieth dead: 
Spread forth thy golden hair 
In larger locks than thou was wont before, 
And, emperor-like, decore 
With diadem of pearl thy temples fair : 
Chase hence the ugly night, 
Which serves but to make dear thy glorioae 

light. 
This is that happy morn, 
That day, long- wished day, 
Of all my life so dark, 
(If cruel stars have not my rum sworn, 
And fates my hopes betray,) 
Which, purely white, deserves 
An everlasting diamond should it mark. 
This is the morn should bring unto this grove 
My love, to hear, and recompense my love. 
Fair king, who all preserves, 
But show thy blushing beams, 
xVnd thou two sweeter eyes 
Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams 
Did once thy heart sm-prise : 
Xay, suns, which shine as clear 
As thou when two thou didst to Rome appear. 
Kow, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise. 
If that ye winds would hear 
A voice surpassing, far, Amphiou's lyre, 
Your furious chiding stay ; 
Let Zephyr only breathe, 
And with her tresses play. 
Kissing sometimes those purple ports of deatli. 
The winds all silent are, 
And Phoebus in his chair 
Ensafli'oning sea and air, 
Makes vanish every star : 
Night like a drunkard reels 



MAY. 



15 



Beyond the hills, to shim his flaming wheels. 
The fields with flowers are decked in ev^ery 

hue, 
The clouds with orient gold spangle their 

blue: 
Here is the pleasant place. 
And nothing wanting is, save she, alas ! 

William Drummond. 



SPRING. 

Now the lusty Spring is seen ; 

Golden yellow, gaudy blue, 

Daintily invite the view. 
Everywhere, on every green, 
Roses blushing as they blow. 

And enticing men to pull ; 
Lilies whiter than the snow ; 
Woodbines of sweet honey full — 

All love's emblems, and all cry : 

Ladies, if not plucked, we die ! 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 



As gladly to their goal they run, 
Hail the returning sun. 

James Gates Peroivai. 



MAY. 



I FEEL a newer life in every gale ; 

The winds that fan the flowers. 
And with their welcome breathings fill the sail. 
Tell of serener hours, — 
Of hours that glide unfelt away 
Beneath the sky of May. 

The spirit of the gentle south- wind calls 

From his blue throne of air. 
And where his whispering voice in music falls. 

Beauty is budding there ; 
The bright ones of the valley break 
Their slumbers, and awake. 

The waving verdure rolls along the plain. 

And the wide forest weaves. 
To welcome back its playful mates again, 
A canopy of leaves ; 
And from its darkening shadow floats 
A gush of trembling notes. 

Fairer and brighter spreads the reign of May ; 

The tresses of the woods 
With the light dallying of the west- wind play; 

And the full-brimming floods, 



SONG TO MAY. 

May ! queen of blossoms, 

And fulfilling flowers, 
With what pretty music 

Shall we charm the hom*s ? 
Wilt thou have pipe and reed, 
Blown in the open mead ? 
Or to the lute give heed 

In the green bowers ? 

Thou hast no need of us, 

Or pipe or wire. 
That hast the golden bee 

Ripened with fire ; 
And many thousand more 
Songsters, that thee adore, 
PiUing earth's grassy floor 

With new desire. 

Thou hast thy mighty herds, 

Tame, and free livers ; 
Doubt not, thy music too 

In the deep rivers ; 
And tl e whole plumy flight. 
Warbling the day and night — 
Up at the gates of light. 

See, the lark quivers ! 

When with the jacinth 

Coy fountains ai*e tressed : 

And for the mournfid bird 
Greenwoods are dressed. 

That did for Tereus pine ; 

Then shall our songs be thine. 

To whom our hearts incline : 
May, be thou blessed ! 

Lord Tuurlcw, 



SUMMER LONGINGS. 

Las moAanas floridas 
De ALril y Mayo. 

Caldkron. 

An ! my heart is weary waiting — 
Waiting for the May — 
Waiting for the pleasant rambles, 
Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles 



10 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



With the woodbine alternating, 

Scent the dewy way. 
Ah ! my heart is weary waiting — 

Waiting for the May. 

All! my heart is sick with longing, 
Longing for the May — 
Ix)nging to escape from study, 
To the young face fair and ruddy, 
And the thousand charms belonging 

To the summer's day. 
Ah ! my heart is sick with longing, 
Longing for the May. 

Ah ! my heai t is soi'e with sighing. 
Sighing for the May — 
Sighing for their sure returning. 
When the summer beams are burning, 
Hoyjes and liowers that, dead or dying, 

All the winter lay. 
Ah! ray heart is sore with sighing, 
Sighing for the Ma>'. 

Ah ! my heart is pained with throbbing, 
Throbbing for the May — 
Throbbing for the sea-side billows. 
Or the water-wooing willows ; 

Where in laughing and in sobbing. 

Glide the streams away. 
Ah ! my heart, my heart is throbbing. 
Throbbing for the May. 

Waiting sad, dejected, weary. 
Waiting for the May : 
Spring goes by with wasted warnings — 
Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings — 
Summer comes, yet dark and dreary 

Life still ebbs away ; 

Man is ever weary, weary, 

Waiting for the May ! 

De>^S rLOEE>'CE McCaETIIT. 



NIGHT IS NIGH GONE. 

IIey, now the day 's dawning ; 
The jolly cock 's crowing ; 
Tlie eastern sky 's glowing ; 

Stars fade one by one ' 
The thistle-cock's crying 



On lovers long lying. 
Cease vowing and sighing* 
The night is nigh gone. 

The fields are o'erflowing 
With gowans all glowing. 
And white hlies grooving, 

A thousand as one ; 
The sweet ring-dove cooing, 
His love notes renewing, 
Now moaning, now suing ; 

The night is nigh gone. 

The season excellmg, 

In scented flowers smeUing, 

To kind love compelling 

Our hearts every one ; 
With sweet ballads moving 
The maids we are loving, 
Mid musing and roving 

The night is nigh gone. 

Of war and fair women 

The young knights are dreaming, 

With bright breastplates gleamiag, 

And plumed helmets on ; 
The barbed steed neighs lordly, 
And shakes his mane proudly, 
For Avar-trumpets loudly 

Say night is nigh ^one. 

I see the flags flowing. 
The warriors all glowing, 
And, snorting and blowing, 

The steeds rushing on ; 
The lances are crashing. 
Out broad blades come flashing 
Mid shouting and dashing — 

The night is nigh gone. 

Alexander Montoomkuv, 
Version of Allan Cunningham. 



MORNIN^G IN LONDON. 

Eaetr has not anything to show more fair: ' 
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty : 
This city now doth, like a garment, wear 
The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare. 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 



EARLY SUMMER. 



17 



Open unto tlie fields, and to the sky, 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
T^ever did sun more beautifully steep, 
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill ; 
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! 
The river glideth at his own sweet will ; 
Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 

Wtt.tjam Wokdswobth. 



THE SABBATH MORlSTINa. 

With silent awe I hail the sacred morn, 
That slowly wakes while all the fields are still ! 
A soothing calm on every breeze is borne ; 
A graver murmur gurgles from the rill ; 
And echo answers softer from the hill ; 
And softer sings the linnet from the thorn : 
The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. 
Hail, light serene ! hail, sacred Sabbath morn ! 
The rooks float silent by in airy drove ; 
The sun a placid yellow lustre throws ; 
The gales that lately sighed along the grove. 
Have hushed their downy wings in dead re- 
pose ; 
The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move — 
So smiled the day when the first morn arose ! 

John Leyden. 



THEY COME! THE MEREY SUMMER 
MONTHS. 

They come! the merry summer months of 
beauty, song, and flowers ; 

They come ! the gladsome months that bring 
thick leafiness to bowers. 

Up, up, my heart ! and walk abroad ; fling 
cark and cai*e aside ; 

Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peace- 
ful waters glide ; 

Or, underneath the shadow vast of patri- 
archal tree. 

Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in 
rapt tranquillity. 

The grass is soft, its velvet touch is grateful 

to the hand ; 
Ind, like the kiss of maiden love, the breeze 

is sweet and bland ; 

7 



The daisy and the buttercup are nodding 

courteously ; 
It stirs their blood with kindest love, to bless 

and welcome thee ; 
And mark how with thine own tliin locks— 

they now are silvery gray — 
That blissful breeze is wantoning, and whis 

pering, " Be gay ! " 

There is no cloud that sails along the ocean 

of yon sky, 
But hath its own winged mariners to give it 

melody ; 
Thou seest their glittering fans outspread, aH 

gleaming like red gold ; 
And hark! with shrUl pipe musical, their 

merry course they hold. 
God bless them all, those little ones, who, far 

above this earth. 
Can make a scoff of its mean joys, and vent 

a nobler mirth. 

But soft ! mine ear upcaught a sound, — from 

yonder wood it came ! 
The spirit of the dim green glade did breathe 

his own glad name : — 
Yes, it is he! the hermit bird, that, apart 

from all his kind. 
Slow spells his beads monotonous to the soft 

western wind ; 
Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! he sings again, — his notei? 

are void of art ; 
But simplest strains do soonest sound the 

deep founts of the heart. 

Good Lord ! it is a gracious boon for thought- 
crazed wight like me. 

To smell again these summer flowers beneath 
this summer tree ! 

To suck once more in every breath their lit- 
tle souls away, 

And feed my fancy with fond dreams of 
youth's bright summer day. 

When, rushing forth like untamed colt, the 
reckless, truant boy 

Wandered through greenwoods all day long, 
a mighty heart of joy ! 

Vm sadder now — I have had cause ; but 1 

Fm proud to think 
That each pure joy-fount, loved of yore, I }'et 

delight to drink ; — 



18 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, the 

•calm, unclouded skj. 
Still mingle music with my dreams, as in the 

days gone by. 
When summer's lovehness and hght fall round 

me dark and cold, 
ril bear indeed hfe's heaviest curse, — a heart 

that hath waxed old ! 

William Motherwell. 



MOEOTITG. 

IIakk— hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 

And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
Elis steeds to water at those springs 

On chaliced flowers that lies : 
And winking Mary-buds begin 

To ope their golden eyes ; 
With every thing that pretty bin. 

My lady sweet, arise ; 

Arise, arise; 

Shakespeare. 



TO THE SKYLAPvK. 

Hail to thee, blithe spmt ! 

Bird thou never wert, 
That from heaven, or near it, 

Pourest thy full heart 
[n profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 

Higher still and higher. 

From the earth thou springest, 
Like a cloud of fire ; 

The blue deep thou wingest, 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever 
singest. 

In the golden lightning 

Of the setting sun. 
O'er which clouds are brightemng, 
Thou dost float and run ; 
Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun. 

The pale, purple even 

Melts around thy flight ; 
Like a star of heaven. 
In the broad daylight, 
ITiori r.rt unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill 
delight. 



Keen as are the arrows 

Of that silver sphere. 
Whose intense lamp narrows 

In the white dawn clear. 
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there 

AU the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud, 
As, when night is bare. 
From one lonely cloud 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven 
is overflowed. 

What thou art we know not ; 

What is most like thee? 
From rainbow-clouds there flow not 
Drops so bright to see. 
As from thy presence showers a rain oi 
melody. 

Like a poet hidden 

In the light of thought, 
Singing hymns unbidden. 
Till the world is wrought 
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heed(y.J 
not: 

Like a high-born maiden, 

In a palace tower. 
Soothing her love-laden ' 

Soul in secret hour 
With music sweet as love, which overflows 
her bower ; 

Like a glow-worm golden. 

In a dell of dew, j 

Scattering unbeholden ^ 

Its aerial hue 
Among the flowers and grass which screen it 
from the view ; 

Like a rose embowered 

In its own green leaves, 
By warm winds deflowered, 
Till the scent it gives 
Makes faint with too much sweet these heav}^- 
winged thieves. 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the twinkling grass, 
Rain-awakened flowers, 
All that ever was 
Joyous, and fresh, and clear, thy music doth 
surpass. 



THE LARK 



19 



Teacli ns sprite or bird 
What sweet thouglits are thine : 

I have never heard 
Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

Chorus hymeneal, 

Or triumphant chant, 
Matched with thine would be all 
But an empty vaunt — 
A tiling wherein we feel there is some hidden 
want. 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy happy strain ? 
What fields, or waves, or mountains ? 
What shapes of sky or plain ? 
What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance 
of pain ? 

With thy clear, keen joyance 

Languor cannot be ; 
Shades of annoyance 

Never come near thee ; 
Tliou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 

Waking, or asleep, 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true or deep 
(Than we mortals dream ; 
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal 
stream ? 

We look before and after, 

And pine for what is not ; 
Our sincerest laughter 
With some pain is fraught ; 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of sad- 
dest thought. 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate, and pride, and fear; 
If we were things born 
Not to shed a tear, 
I knew not how thy joy we ever should come 
near. 

Better than all measures 

»0f delightful sound ; 
Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 
'■ rhy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the 
£Tound ! 



Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know. 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow. 
The world should listen then, as I am listen 
ing now. 

PeECY BtSSHK SHELLEk. 



THE LAEK. 

Bird of the wilderness. 
Blithesome and cumberless. 

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 
Emblem of happiness. 
Blest is thy dwelling-place — 

Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 
Wild is thy lay, and loud. 
Far in the downy cloud ; 

Love gives it energy — ^love gave it birth ! 
Where, on thy dewy wing — 
Where art thou journeying ? 

Thy lay is in heaven — thy love is on earth. 

O'er fell and fountain sheen. 
O'er moor and mountain green. 

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day ; 
Over the cloudlet dim. 
Over the rainbow's rim. 

Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! 

Then, when the gloaming comes, 
Low in the heather Jblooms, 

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be I 
Emblem of happiness, 
Blest is thy dwelling-place — 

Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 

James Hoao. 



SONG. 



'T IS sweet to hear the merry lark, 

That bids a blithe good-morrow ; 
But sweeter to hark, in the twinkling dark 

To the soothing song of sorrow. 
O nightingale I What doth she ail ? 

And is she sad or jolly ? 
For ne'er on earth was sound of mirth 

So like to melancholy. 

The merry lark, he soars on high. 
No worldly thought o'ertakes him : 



20 



POEMS OF NATUKE. 



He sings aloud to the clear blue sky, 
And the daylight that awakes him. 

As sweet a lay, as loud, as gay, 
The nightingale is trilling ; 

With feeling bliss, no less than his, 
Her little heart is thrilling. 

Yet ever and anon, a sigh 

Peers through her la\ish mirth ; 
For the lark's bold song is of the sky, 

And hers is of the earth. 
By night and day, she tunes her lay. 

To di'ive away all sorrow ; 
For bhss, alas ! to-night must pass. 

And woe may come to-morrow. 

Hartley Colekidge. 



SO^-G. 



Pack clouds away, and welcome day. 
With night we banish sorrow ; 

Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, lark, aloft. 
To give my love good-morrow 

Wings from the wind to please her mind, 
ISTotes from the lark I'll borrow : 

Bird, prune thy wing ; nightingale, sing. 
To give my love good-morrow. 
To give my love good-morrow, 
2!^otes from them all Pll borrow. 

Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast. 

Sing, birds, in every furrow ; 
And from each hill let music shrill 

Give my fair love good-morrow. 
Blackbird and thrush in every bush, 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow. 
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves. 

Sing my fair love good-morrow. 

To give my love good-morrow. 

Sing, birds in every furrow. 

Thomas Hetwood. 



THE a:n^gler's tkysting-tree. 

Sixa, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Meet the morn upon the lea ; 
Are the emeralds of the spring 

On the angler's trysting-tree ? 

Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me ! 



Are there buds on our willow-tree? 
Buds and birds on our trysting-tree i 

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing! 

Have you met the honey-bee, 
Circling upon rapid wing, 

'Round the angler's trysting-tree ? 

Tip, sweet thrushes, up and see ! 

Are there bees at our willow -tree? 

Birds and bees at the trysting-tree. 

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Are the fountains gushing free ? 
Is the south wind wandering 

Through the angler's trysting-tree ? 

Up, sweet thrushes, teU to me ! 

Is there wind up our willow-tree ? 

Wind or calm at our trysting-tree ? 

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing ! 

Wile us with a merry glee ; 
To the flowery haunts of spring — 

To the angler's trysting-tree. 

Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me ! 

Are there flowers 'neath our willow-tree 

Spring and flowers at the trysting-treo Sf 
Thomas Tod Stoddabt. 



reel 



THE ANGLER. 

Oh ! the gallant fisher's life, 

It is the best of any : 
'T is full of pleasure, void of strife, 
And 't is beloved by many ; 

Other joys 

Are but toys ; 

Only this 

Lawful is ; 

For our skiU 

Breeds no ill, 
But content and pleasure. 

In a morning, up we rise, 
Ere Aurora's peeping ; 
Drink a cup to wash our eyes, 
Leave the sluggard sleeping ; 
Then we go. 
To and fro. 
With our knacks 
At our hacks, 



ANGLING. 



21 



To such streams 
As the Thames, 
If we have the leisure. 

■When we please to walk abroad 

For our recreation ; 
In the fields is our abode, 
Full of delectation, 

Where, in a brook, 

With a hook — 

Or a lake, — 

Fish we take ; 

There we sit, 

For a bit, 
Till we fish entangle. 

We have gentles in a horn. 

We have paste and worms too ; 
We can watch both night and morn, 
Sufier rain and storms too ; 

ITone do here 

Use to swear 

Oaths do fray 

Fish away ; 

We sit still. 

Watch our quill : 
Fishers must not wrangle. 

If the sun's excessive heat 
Make our bodies swelter, 
To an osier hedge we get. 
For a friendly shelter ; 

Where — in a dyke. 

Perch or pike. 

Roach or daice. 

We do chase, 

Bleak or gudgeon. 

Without grudging ; 
We are still contented. 

Or, we sometimes pass an hour* 

Under a green willow, 
That defends us from a shower. 
Making earth our pillow ; 
Where we may 
Think and pray. 
Before death 
Stops our breath ; 
Other joys 
Are but toys, 
And to be lamented. 

John Chalkhtll. 



VERSES IN PRAISE OF ANGLING. 

QuiVEEiNG fears, heart-tearing cares. 
Anxious sighs, untimely tears. 

Fly, fly to courts. 

Fly to fond worldlings' sports, 
Where strained sardonic smiles are glosing still 
And grief is forced to laugh against her will, 

Where mirth 's but mummery. 

And sorrows only real be. 

Fly from our country pastimes, fly. 

Sad troops of human misery. 
Come, serene looks, 
Clear as the crystal brooks, 

Or the pure azured heaven that smiles to see 

The rich attendance on our poverty ; 
Peace and a secure mind, 
Which all men seek, we only find. 

Abused mortals! did you know 

Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, 
You 'd scorn proud towers 
And seek them in these bowers. 

Where winds, sometimes, our woods perhaps 
may shake, 

But blustering care could never tempest make. 
Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, 
Saving of fountains that glide by us. 

Here 's no fantastic mask nor dance. 
But of our kids that frisk and prance ; 

Nor wars are seen. 

Unless upon the green 
Two harmless lambs are butting one the other. 
Which done, both bleating run, each to his 
mother ; 

And wounds are never found, 

Save what the ploughshare gives the 
ground. 

Here are no entrapping baits 
To hasten to too hasty fates ; 

Unless it be 

The fond credulity 
Of silly fish, w^hich (worldling like) still look 
Upon the bait, but never on the hook ; 

Nor envy, 'less among 

The birds, for price of their sweet song. 

Go, let the diving negro sock 

For gems, hid in some forlorn creek : 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



We all pearls scorn 

Save what the dewy morn 
Congeals upon each little spire of grass, 
Which careless shepherds oeat down as they 
pass; 

And gold ne'er here appears, 

Save what the yellow Ceres hears. 

Blest silent groves, oh, may you be, 
For ever, mu'th's best nursery ! 

May pure contents 

For ever pitch their tents 
Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, 

these mountains ; 
And peace still slumber by these purhng 
fountains. 

Which we may every year 

Meet, when we come a-fishing here. 

SiE Heney AYotton. 



THE AlN-GLEPw'S WISH. 

I IN these flowery meads would be, 

These crystal streams should solace me ; 

To whose harmonious bubbling noise 

I, with my angle, would rejoice. 

Sit here, and see the turtle-dove 
Court his chaste mate to acts of love ; 

Or, on that bank, feel the west wind 
Breathe health and plenty ; please my mind. 
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers. 
And then washed off" by April showers ; 
Here, hear my kenna sing a song : 
There, see a blackbird feed her young, 

Or a laverock build her nest ; 

Here, give my weary spirits rest. 

And raise my low-pitched thoughts above 

Earth, or what poor mortals love. 

Thus, free from lawsuits, and the noise 
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice ; 

Or, with my Bryan and a book, 

Loiter long days near Shawford brook ; 

There sit by him, and eat my meat ; 

There see the sun both rise and set ; 

There bid good morning to next day ; 

There meditate my time away ; 

And angle on ; and beg to have 
A quiet passage to a welcome grave. 

IzAAE Walton. 



THE boboline:. 

Bobolink ! that in the meadow, 
Or beneath the orchard's shadow, 
Keepest up a constant rattle 
Joyous as my children's prattle, 
Welcome to the north again ! 
Welcome to mine ear thy strain, 
Welcome to mine eye the sight 
Of thy bufi^, thy black and white. 
Brighter plumes may greet the sun 
By the banks of Amazon ; 
Sweeter tones may weave the spell 
Of enchanting Philomel ; 
But the tropic bird would fail, 
And the English nightingale, 
If we should compare their worth 
With thine endless, gushing mirth. 

When the ides of May are past, 
June and Summer nearing fast, 
While from depths of blue above 
Comes the mighty breath of love, 
Calling out each bud and flower 
With resistless, secret power,— 
Waking hope and fond desire, 
Kindling the erotic fire, — 
Filling youths' and maidens' dreams 
With mysterious, pleasing themes ; 
Then, amid the sunlight clear 
Floating in the fragrant air, 
Thou dost fill each heart with pleasaro 
By thy glad ecstatic measure. 

A single note, so sweet and low. 
Like a full heart's overflow. 
Forms the prelude ; but the strain 
Gives no such tone again. 
For the wild and saucy song 
Leaps and skips the notes among, 
With such quick and sportive play, 
iN'e'er was madder, merrier lay. 

Gayest songster of the Spring ! 
Thy melodies before me bring 
Visions of some dream-built land, 
Where, by constant zephyrs fanned, 
I might walk the livelong day. 
Embosomed in perpetual May. 
ISTor care nor fear thy bosom knows ; 
For thee a tempest never blows ; 



THE CUCKOO. 



28 



But when our northern Summer 's o'er, 
By Delaware's or Schuylkill's shore 
The wild rice lifts its airy head, 
And royal feasts for thee are spread. 
And when the Winter threatens there, 
Thy tireless wings yet own no fear, 
But bear thee to more southern coasts. 
Far beyond the reach of frosts. 

Bobolink ! still may thy gladness 
Take from me all taints of sadness ; 
Fill my soul with trust unshaken 
In that Being who has taken 
Care for every living thing. 
In Summer, Winter, Fall, and Spring. 

Thomas Hill. 



TO THE CUCKOO. 

Rail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! 

Thou messenger of Spring ! 
N'ow heaven repairs thy rural seat. 

And woods thy welcome sing. 

Soon as the daisy decks the green. 

Thy certain voice we hear. 
Rest thou a star to guide thy path. 

Or mark the rolling year ? 

Delightful vistant ! with thee 

I hail the time of flowers. 
And hear the sound of music sweet 

From birds among the bowers. 

The schoolboy, wandering through the wood 

To pull the primrose gay. 
Starts, thy most curious voice to hear. 

And imitates thy lay. 

What time the pea puts on the bloom. 

Thou fliest thy vocal vale, 
An annual guest in other lands. 

Another Spring to hail. 

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, 

Thy sky is ever clear ; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 

IsTo Winter in thy year ! 

Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! 

We 'd make, with joyful wing. 
Our annual visit o'er the globe. 

Attendants on the Spring. 

John Loqan. 



TO THE CUCKOO. 

BLITHE new-comer ! I have heard, 

1 hear thee and rejoice. 

Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird. 
Or but a wandering voice ? 

While I am lying on the grass, 
Thy twofold shout I hear ; 
From hill to hill it seems to pas^ 
At once far off, and near. 

Though babbling only to the vale, 
Of sunshine and of flowers. 
Thou bringest unto me a tale 
Of visionary hours. 

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring 

Even yet thou art to me 

N"o bird, but an invisible thing, 

A voice, a mystery ; 

The same that in my school-boy days 

1 listened to — that cry 

Which made me look a thousand ways, 
In bush, and tree, and sky. 

To seek thee did I often rove 
Through woods and on the green ; 
And thou wert stiU a hope, a love- 
Still longed for, never seen. 

And I can listen to thee yet ; 
Can lie upon the plain 
And hsten till I do beget 
That golden time again. 

blessed bird ! the earth we pace, 
Again appears to be 
An UD substantial, faery place, 
That is fit home for thee ! 

William Wordswoetu. 



THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTS- 
GALE. 

I. 
The God of Love, — ah lencdicite ! 
How mighty and how great a lord is he ! 
For he of low hearts can make higli ; of higb 
He can make low, and unto death bring nigh ; 
And hard hearts, he can make them kind and 
free. 



24 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



WitMn a little time, as hath been found, 

He can make sick folk whole and fresh and 

sound : 
Them who are whole in bodj and in mind, 
He can mal^e sick ; hind can he and unbind 
All that he will have bound, or have unbound. 

m. 

To tell his might my wit may not suffice ; 
Foohsh men he can make them out of wise — 
For he may do all that he wiU devise ; 
Loose Hvers he can make abate their vice. 
And proud hearts can make tremble in a trice. 

rv. 
In brief, the whole of what he will he may; 
Against him dare not any wight say nay , 
To humble or afflict whomever he will. 
To gladden or to grieve, he hath like skill ; 
But most his might he sheds on the eve of 
May. 

Y. 

For every true heart, gentle heart and free. 
That with him is, or thinketh so to be, 
Xow, against May, shall have some stirring, — 

whether 
To joy, or be it to some mourning ; never. 
At other time, methinks, in like degree. 



For now, when they may hear the small birds' 

song, 
And see the budding leaves the branches 

throng. 
This unto their remembrance doth bring 
AU kinds of pleasure, mixed with sorrowing ; 
And longing of sweet thoughts that ever long. 

VII. 

And of that longing heaviness doth come. 
Whence oft great sickness grows of heart and 

home; 
Sick are they all for lack of their desire ; 
And thus in May their hearts are set on fire. 
So that tliey burn forth in great martyrdom. 

vni. 
In sooth, I speak from feeling ; what though 

now 
Old am I, and to genial pleasure slow ; 



Yet have I felt of sickness through the May, 
Both hot and cold, and heart-aches everj* 

day,— 
How hard, alas! to beai', I only know 



IX. 

Such shaking doth the fever in me keep 
Through all this May, that I have httle sleep 
And also 't is not likely unto me. 
That any living heart should sleepy be. 
In which Love's dart its fiery point doth steep 

X. 

But tossing lately on a sleepless bed, 
I of a token thought, which lovers heed : 
How among them it was a common tale. 
That it was good to hear the nightingale 
Ere the vile cuckoo's note be uttered. 

XI. 

And then I thought anon, as it was day, 
I gladly would go somewhere to essay 
If I perchance a nightingale might hear ; 
For yet had I heard none, of all that year ; 
And it was then the third night of the May. 

xn. 

And soon as I a glimpse of day espied, 

^o longer would I in my bed abide ; 

But straightway to a wood, that was hard by. 

Forth did I go, alone and fearlessly. 

And held the pathway down by a brook-side ; 

xni. 
Till to a lawn I came, aU white and green ; 
I in so fair a one had never been : 
The ground was green, with daisy powdered 

over; 
Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover, 
All green and white, and nothing else wae 

seen. 

xrv. 
There sat I down among the fair, fresl^ 

flowers. 
And saw the b'-ds come tripping trom their 

bowers. 
Where they had rested them all night ; and 

they. 
Who were so joyful at the hgnt of day, 
Began to honor May with all their powers. 



THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 



2b 



XV. 

Well did they know that service all by rote ; 
And there was many and many a lovely note — 
Some, singing loud, as if they had complained ; 
Some with their notes another manner feigned ; 
And some did sing all out with the full throat. 

XYI. 

They pruned themselves, and made themselves 

right gay, 
Dancing and leaping light upon the spray ; 
And ever two and two together were, 
The same as they had chosen for the year, 
Upon Saint Valentine's returning day. 

xvn. 
Meanwhile the stream, whose bank I sat upon, 
Was making such a noise as it ran on. 
Accordant to the sweet birds' harmony ; 
Methought that it was the best melody 
Which ever to man's ear a passage won. 

XYin. 

And for delight, but how I never wot, 
i I in a slumber and a swoon was caught, 

N ot ah asleep and yet not waking wholly ; 

And as I lay, the Oackoo, bird unholy, 
j Broke silence, or I heard him in my thought. 

XIX. 

And that was right upon a tree fast by. 
And who was then ill satisfied but I ? 
Now God, quoth I, that died upon the rood, 
From thee and thy base throat keep all that 's 

good; 
Full little joy have I now of thy cry. 

XX. 

And, as I with the Cuckoo thus 'gan chide, 
In the next bush that was me fast beside, 
I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing, 
That her clear voice made a loud rioting, 
Echoing through all the greenwood wide. 

XXI. 

All ! good sweet Nightingale ! for my heart's 

cheer, 
Uence hast thou stayed a little while too long ; 
, For we have had the sorry Cuckoo here, 
And she hath been before thee with her song ; 
Evil licfht on her I she hath done me wrong. 



XXII. 

But hear you now a wondrous thing, I pray; 
As long as in that swooning-fit I lay, 
Methought I wist right well what these birds 

meant, 
And had good knowing both of their intent, 
And of their speech, and all that they would 

say. 

xxni. 
The Nightingale thus in my heai-ing spake : — 
Good Cuckoo, seek some other bush or brake, 
And, prithee, let us, that can sing, dwell here ; 
For every wight eschews thy song to hear. 
Such uncouth singing verily dost thou make. 

XXIV. 

What ! quoth she then, what is 't that ails thee 

now? 
It seems to me I sing as well as thou ; 
For mine's a song that is both true and 

plain, — 
Although I cannot quaver so in vain 
As thou dost in thy throat, I wot not how, 

XXY. 

All men may understanding have of me, 
But, Nightingale, so may they not of thee ; 
For thou hast many a foolish and quaint 

cry :■— 
Thou sayest Osee, Osee, then how may I 
Have knowledge, I thee pray, what this may 

be? 

XXVI. 

Ah ! fool, quoth she, wist thou not what it is ? 
Oft as I say Osee, Osee, I wis, 
Then mean I, that I should be wondrous fain 
That shamefully they one and all were slaiji, 
Whoever against Love mean aught amiss. 

xxvn. 
And also would I that they all were dead. 
Who do not think in love their Hfe to lead, 
For who is loth the God of Love to obey 
Is only fit to die, I dare well say ; 
And for that cause Osee I cry ; take heed I 



Ay, quoth the Cuckoo, that is a quaint law — 
That all must love or die ; but I withdraw, 
And take my leave of all such company, 



26 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



ii 



For my intent it neither is to die, 

ISTor ever while I live Love's yoke to draw. 



For lovers, of all folk that he alive, 
The most disquiet have, and least do thrive ; 
Most feehng have of sorrow, woe, and care. 
And the least welfare cometh to their share ; 
AYhat need is there against the truth to 
strive ? 

XXX. 

What ! quoth she, thou art all out of thy mind. 
That, in thy churlishness, a cause canst find 
To speak of Love's true servants in this mood ; 
For in this world no service is so good. 
To every wight that gentle is of kind. 



For thereof comes all goodness and all worth ; 
And gentUess and honor thence come forth ; 
Thence worship comes, content, and true 

heart's pleasure. 
And full-assured trust, joy without measure, 
And jollity, fresh cheerfulness, and mirth ; 

xxxn. 

And bounty, lowliness, and courtesy. 
And seemliness, and faithful company. 
And dread of shame that will not do amiss ; 
For he that faithfully Love's servant is. 
Rather than he disgraced, would chuse to die. 



And that the very truth it is which 1 
Now say, — in such belief I '11 live and die ; 
And, Cuckoo, do thou so, by my advice. 
Then, quoth she, let me never hope for bliss. 
If with that counsel I do e'er comply. 

xxxiy. 

Good Nightingale! thou speakest wondrous 

fair, 
Yet, for all that, the truth is found elsewhere ; 
For Love in young folk is but rage, I wis. 
And Love in old folk a great dotage is ; 
Who most it useth, him 'twill most impair. 

XXXV. 

For thereof come all contraries to gladness ; 
Thence sickness comes, and overwhelming 
sadness, 



Mistrust and jealousy, despite, debate. 

Dishonor, shame, envy importunate, 

Pride, anger, mischief, poverty, and madness 



i 



Loving is aye an office of despair. 

And one thing is therein which is not fair 

For whoso gets of love a httle bliss. 

Unless it always stay with him, I wis 

He may full soon go with an old man's haii\ 



And therefore. Nightingale! do thou keep 

nigh; 

For, trust me well, in spite of thy quaint cry, 
If long time from thy mate thou be, or far, 
Thou 'It be as others that forsaken are ; 
Then shalt thou raise a clamor as do 1. 



snll 



xxxvni. 
Fie, quoth she, on thy name, bird ill beseen! 
The God of Love afflict thee with all teen. 
For thou art worse than mad a thousand- fold ; 
For many a one hath virtues manifold. 
Who had been naught, if Love had never beeii, 

XXXIX. 

For evermore his servants Love amendeth, 
And he from every blemish them defendeth : 
And maketh them to burn, as in a fire. 
In loyalty and worshipful desire ; 
And, when it likes him, joy enough thenij 
sendeth. J 

XL. I 

Thou Nightingale ! the Cuckoo said, be still, 
For Love no reason hath but his own will ; — 
For to th' untrue he oft gives ease and joy; 
True lovers doth so bitterly annoy, 
He lets them perish through that grievous ill 

XLL 

With such a master would I never be. 
For he, in sooth, is bhnd, and may not see, 
And knows not when he hurts and when he 

heals ; 
Within his court full seldom truth avails, 
So diverse in his wilfulness is he. 

XLH. 

Then of the Nightingale did I take note — 
How from her inmost lieart a sigh she brought 



THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 



27 



And said : Alas that ever I was born ! 
Not one word have I now, I 'm so forlorn : 
And with that word, she into tears burst out. 

XLin. 
Alas, alas ! my very heart will break, 
Quoth she, to hear this churlish bird thus 

speak 
Of Love, and of his holy services ; 
Now, God of Love ! thou help me in some 

wise. 
That vengeance on this Cuckoo I may wreak. 

XLIV. 

And so, methuught, I started up anon, 
And to the brook I ran and got a stone, 
Which at the Cuckoo hardily I cast. 
That he for dread did fly away full fast ; 
And glad, in sooth, was I when he was gone. 

XLV. 

And as he flew, the Cuckoo, ever and aye, 
Kept crying: "Farewell! — ^farewell. Popin- 



jay 



t" 



As if in scornful mockery of me ; 

And on I hunted him from tree to tree, 

fill he was far, all out of sight, away. 



Then straightway came the Nightingale to me, 
And said: Forsooth, my friend, do I thank 

thee. 
That thou wert near to rescue me ; and now 
tJnto the God of Love I make a vow, 
rhat all this May I will thy songstress be. 

XLYII. 

Well satisfied, I thanked her ; and she said : 
By this mishap no longer be dismayed. 
Though thou the Cuckoo heard, ere thou 

heard'st me ; 
Yet if I live it shall amended be. 
When next May comes, if I am not afraid. 

xLVin. 

And one thing will I counsel thee also : 
The Cuckoo trust not thou, nor his Love's saw ; 
All that he said is an outrageous lie. 
Nay, nothing shall me bring thereto, quoth I, 
For Love and it hath done me mighty woe. 



XLIX. 

Yea, hath it ? Use, quoth she, this medicine : 
This May-time, every day before thou dine, 
Go look on the fresh daisy ; then say I, 
Although, for pain, thou mayst be hke to die, 
Thou wilt be eased, and less wilt droop and 
pine. 

L. 

And mind always that thou be good and true. 
And I will sing one song, of many new, 
For love of thee, as loud as I may cry. 
And then did she begin this song full high, 
" Beshrew all them that are in love untrue." 

LI. 

And soon as she had sung it to an end. 
Now farewell, quoth she, for 1 hence must 

wend ; 
And, God of Love, that can right well and 

may. 
Send unto thee as mickle joy this day. 
As ever he to lover yet did send. 



Thus takes the Nightingale her leave of me ; 
I pray to God with her always to be. 
And joy of love to send her evermore ; 
And shield us from the Cuckoo and her lore, 
For there is not so false a bird as she. 

LHI. 

Forth then she flew, the gentle Nightingale, 
To all the birds that lodged within that dale. 
And gathered each and all into one place. 
And them besought to hear her doleful case : 
And thus it was that she began her tale : 

LIT. 

The Cuckoo, — 't is not well that I shoul(? 

hide 
How she and I did each the other chide, 
And without ceasing, since it was daylight ; 
And now I pray you all to do me right 
Of that false bird, whom Love cannot abide. 

LV. 

Then spake one bird, and full assent all gave : 
Tliis matter asketh counsel good as grave ; 
For birds we are — all here together brought ; 
And, in good sooth, the Cuckoo here is not ; 
And therefore we a Parliament will liave. 



28 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



LVI. 

And thereat shall the Eagle be om* Lord, 
And other Peers whose names are on record. 
A summons to the Cuckoo shall be sent, 
And judgment there be given ; or, that intent 
Failing, we finally shall make accord. 

Lvn. 
And all this shall be done, without a naj. 
The morrow after Saint Valentine's day, 
Under a maple that is well beseen 
Before the chamber-windcw of the Queen, 
At Woodstock, on the meadow green and 

gay. 

LYin. 
She thanked them; and then her leave she 

took, 
And flew into a hawthorn by that brook ; 
And there she sat and sung, upon that tree, 
"For term of Mfe Love shall have hold of 

me," — 
So loudly, that I with that song awoke. 



Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know, — 
For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence, — 
Who did on thee the hardiness bestow 
To appear before my Lady? But a sense 
Thou surely hast of her benevolence. 
Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give ; 
For of all good she is the best alive. 

Alas, poor Book ! for thy unworthiness 
To show to her some pleasant meanings, writ 
In winning words, since through her gentiless 
Thee she accepts as for her service fit ! 
Oh ! it repents me I have neither wit 
Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give ; 
For of all good she is the best alive. 

Beseech her meekly Avith all lowliness. 
Though I be far from her I reverence. 
To think upon my truth and steadfastness ; 
And to abridge my sorrow's violence 
Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience, 
She of her liking proof to me would give; 
For of all good she is the best alive. 

l'envoy. 
Pleasure's Aurora, day of gladsomeness ! 
Lnna by nifcht, with heaven^ influence 



Illumined ! root of beauty and goodness I 

Write, and allay, by yom* beneficence. 

My sighs breathed forth in silence, — comfort 

give! 
Since of all good you are the best alivo. 

GeOFFEEY ClLAirCBB. 

Version of William Words wckth. 



SONG. 



See, oh see ! 

How every tree. 

Every bower. 

Every fiower, 
A new life gives to others' joys ; 

WhHe that I 

Grief-stricken lie, 

JSTor can meet 

With any sweet 
But what faster mine destroys. 
What are all the senses' pleasures, 
When the mind has lost all measures ? 

Hear, oh hear ! 

How sweet and clear 

The nightingale 

And water's fall 
In concert join for others' ear; 

While to me. 

For harmony. 

Every air 

Echoes despair, 
And every drop provokes a tear. 
What are all the senses' pleasures, 
When the soul has lost all measm^es ? 

LoED Beistol. 



THE GREEN LINNET. 

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs, that shed 
Their snow-white blossoms on my head. 
With brightest sunshine round me spread. 

Of Spring's unclouded weather — 
In this sequsstered nook, how sweet 
To sit upon my orchard-seat ! 
And birds and flowers once more to greet 

My last year's friends together. 

One have I marked, the happiest guest 
In all this covert of the blest ; 



ARETHUSA. 



2y 



Hail to thee, far above the rest 

In joy of voice and pinion ! 
Thou, Linnet ! in thy gi^een array, 
Presiding spirit here to-day, 
Dost lead the revels of the May, 

And this is thy dominion. 

While birds, and butterflies, and flowers 
Make all one band of paramours, 
Thou, ranging up and dovrn the bowers, 

Art sole in thy employment ; 
A life, a presence hke the air. 
Scattering thy gladness without care. 
Too blest with any one to pair — 

Thyself thy own enjoyment. 

Amid yon tuft of hazel-trees. 
That twinkle to the gusty breeze, 
Behold him perched in ecstasies. 

Yet seeming still to hover ; 
There ! where the flutter of his wings 
Upon his back and body flings 
Shadows and sunny glimmerings. 

That cover him all over. 

My dazzled sight he oft deceives— 
A brother of the dancing leaves — 
Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves 

Pours forth a song in gushes ; 
As if by that exulting strain 
He mocked, and treated with disdain 
The voiceless form he chose to feign. 

While fluttering in the bushes. 

William Woedsworth. 



THE BLACK COOK. 

GooD-MOEROW to thy sable beak. 
And glossy plumage, dark and sleek ; 
Thy crimson moon and azure eye- 
Gock of the heath, so wildly shy ! 
I see thee slowly cowering through 
That wiry web of silver dew, 
^^lat twinkles in the morning air 
Like casement of my lady fair. 

A maid there is in yonder tower, 
Who, peeping from her early bower, 
Half shows, like thee, with simple wile. 
Her braided hair and morning smile. 



The rarest things, with wayward will, 
Beneath the covert hide them still ; 
The rarest things, to hght of day 
Look shortly forth, and break away. 

One fleeting moment of delight 
I warmed me in her cheering sight ; 
And short, I ween, the time will bo 
That I shall parley hold with thee. 
Through Snowden's mist, red beams the dixy 
The climbing herd-boy chants his lay ; 
The gnat-flies dance their sunny ring ; 
Thou art already on the wing. 

Joanna Baillie. 



AEETHUSA. 

Aeethusa arose 

From her couch of snows 
In the Acroceraunian mountains, — 

Prom cloud and from crag 

With many a jag, 
Shepherding her bright fountains. 

She leapt down the rocks 

With her rainbow locks 
Streaming among the streams ; — 

Her steps paved with green 

The downward ravine 
Which slopes to the western gleams 

And, gliding and springing. 

She went, ever singing 
Li murmurs as soft as sleep ; 

The Earth seemed to love her, 

And Heaven smiled above her, 
As she lingered towards the deep. 

Then Alpheus bold. 

On his glacier cold, 
With his trident the mountains strook 

And opened a chasm 

In the rocks ; — with the spasm 
All Erymanthus shook. 

And the black south wind, 

It concealed behind 
The urns of the silent snow. 

And earthquake and thunder 

Did rend in sunder 
The bars of the springs below ; 

The beard and the hair 

Of the river-god Were 
Seen through the torrent's sweep. 



bO 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



As he followed the hght 
Of the fleet nymph's flight 
To the hrink of the Dorian deep. 

" Oh, save me ! Oh, guide me ! 

And hid the deep hide me, 
For he grasps me now by the hair ! " 

The loud Ocean heard, 

To its blue depth stirred, 
And divided at her prayer ; 

And under the water 

The Earth's white daughter 
Fled hke a sunny beam ; 

Behind her descended 

Her billows, unblended 
With the brackish Dorian stream. 

Like a gloomy stain 

On the emerald main, 
Alpheus rushed behind, — 

As an eagle pursuing 

A dove to its ruin 
Down the streams of the cloudy wind. 

Under the bowers 

Where the ocean powers 
Sit on their pearled thrones ; 

Through the coral woods 

Of the weltering floods, 
Over heaps of unvalued stones ; 

Through the dim beams 

Which amid the streams 
Weave a network of colored light • 

And under the caves, 

Where the shadowy waves 
Are as green as the forest's night — 

Outspeeding the shark, 

And the sword-fish dark, 
Under the ocean foam ; 

And up through the rifts 

Of the mountain clifts 
They passed to their Dorian home. 

And now from their fountains 

In Enna's mountains, 
Down one vale where the morning basks 

Like friends once parted. 

Grown single-hearted, 
They ply their watery tasks. 

At sunrise they leap 

From their cradles steep 
In the cave of the shelving hill ; 



At noontide they flow 

Through the woods below, 
And the meadows of asphodel ; 

And at night they sleep 

Li the rocking deep 
Beneath the Ortygian shore ; — 

Like spirits that lie 

In the azure sky. 
When they love but live no more. 

Peecy Bysshe Bckllby 



THE FOU:^TAIIsr. 

Into the sunshine, 

FuU of light. 
Leaping and flashing 

From morn till night ; 

Into the moonlight, 

Whiter than snow, 
Waving so flower-hke, 

When the winds blow 1 

Into the starlight. 

Rushing in spray, 
Happy at midnight — 

Happy by day ! 

Ever in motion, 

Blithesome and cheery, 
Still climbing heavenward, 

^ever aweary ; 

Glad of aU weathers, 

StiU seeming best, 
Upward or downward, 

Motion thy rest : 

FuU of a nature 

I^Tothing can tame, 
Changed every moment- 

Ever the same ; 

Ceaseless aspiring. 

Ceaseless content, 
Darkness or sunshine, 

Thy element; 

Glorious fountain ! 

Let my heart be 
Fresh, changeful, constant, 

Upward, like thee ! 

James Russell Lowizli^ 



LITTLE STREAMS. 



31 



LITTLE STREAMS. 

Little streams are light and shadow ; 
Flowing through the pasture meadow, 
Flowing by the green way-side, 
Through the forest dim and wide, 
Through the hamlet still and small — 
By the cottage, by the hall, 
By the ruin'd abbey still ; 
Turning here and there a mill. 
Bearing tribute to the river — 
Little streams, I love you ever. 

Summer music is there flowing — 
Flowering plants in them are growing ; 
Happy life is in them all. 
Creatures innocent and small ; 
Little birds come down to drink. 
Fearless of their leafy brink ; 
IToble trees beside them grow. 
Glooming them with branches low ; 
And between, the sunshine, glancing 
In their little waves, is dancing. 

Little streams have flowers a many, 
Beautiful and fair as any ; 
Typha strong, and green bur-reed ; 
Willow-herb, with cotton-seed ; 
Arrow-head, with eye of jet; 
And the water-violet. 
There the flowering-rush you meet, 
And the plumy meadow-sweet ; 
And, in places deep and stilly, 
Marble-like, the water-lily. 

Little streams, their voices cheery, 

Sound forth welcomes to the weary, 

Flowing on from day to day. 

Without stint and without stay ; 

Here, upon their flowery bank, 

In the old time pilgrims drank — 

Here have seen, as now, pass by, 

King-fisher, and dragon-fly ; 

Those bright things that have their dwelling. 

Where the little streams are welling. 



I 



Down in valleys green and lowly, 
Murmuring not and gliding slowly ; 
Up in mountain-hollows wild, 



Fretting like a peevish child ; 
Through the hamlet, where all day 
In their waves the children play ; 
Bunning west, or running east. 
Doing good to man and beast — 
Always giving, weary never, 
Little streams, I love you ever. 

Maey HoWTPi; 



THE WATER ! THE WATER ! 

The Water! the Water! 

The joyous brook for me. 
That tuneth through the quiet night 

Its ever-living glee. 
The Water! the Water! 

That sleepless, merry heart, 
Which gurgles on unstintedly. 

And loveth to impart, 
To all around it, some small measure 
Of its own most perfect pleasure. 

The Water ! the Water ! 

The gentle stream for me. 
That gushes from the old gray stone, 

Beside the alder-tree. 
The Water! the Water! 

That ever-bubbling spring 
I loved and looked on while a child. 

In deepest wondering, — 
And asked it whence it came and went^ 
And when its treasures would be spent. 

The Water! the Water! 

The merry, wanton brook 
That bent itself to pleasure me, 

Like mine old shepherd crook. 
The Water! the Water! 

That sang so sweet at noon. 
And sweeter still all night, to win 

Smiles from the pale, proud moon, 
And from the little ftiiry foces 
That gleam in heaven's remotest places. 

The Water! the Water! 

The dear and blessed thing. 
That all day fed the little flowers 

On its banks blossoming. 



82 



POEMS or NATURE. 



The Water! the Water! 

That murmured in my ear 
Hymns of a saint-like purity, 

That angels well might hear, 
And whisper in the gates of heaven, 
How meek a pilgrim had heen shriven. 

The Water! the Water! 

Where I have shed salt tears, 
In loneliness and friendliness, 

A thing of tender years. 
The Water! the Water! 

Where I have happy heen, 
And showered upon its hosom flowers 

Culled from each meadow green ; 
And idly hoped my life would he 
So crowned by love's idolatry. 

The Water! the Water! 

My heart yet burns to think 
How cool thy fountain sparkled forth. 

For parched lip to drink. 
The Water! the Water! 

Of mine own native glen — 
The gladsome tongue I oft have heard, 

But ne'er shall hear again. 
Though fancy fills my ear for aye 
With sounds that live so far away ! 

The Water! the Water! 

The mild and glassy wave, 
Upon whose broomy banks I 've longed 

To find my silent grave. 
The Water! the Water! 

0, blest to me thou art ! 
Thus sounding in life's solitude 

The music of my heart, 
And filling it, despite of sadness. 
With dreamings of departed gladness. 

The Water! the Water! 

The mournful, pensive tone 
That whispered to my heart how soon 

This weary life was done. 
The Water! the Water! 

That rolled so bright and free. 
And bade me mark how beautiful 

Was its soul's purity ; 
And how it glanced to heaven its wave, 
As, wandering on, it sought its grave. 

William Motherwell. 



S0:N^G of THE BROOK. 

I COME from haunts of coot and hem : 

I make a sudden sally 
And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 

By thirty hills I hurry down. 
Or slip between the ridges ; 

By twenty thorps, a little town, 
And half a hundred bridges. 

Till last by Philip's farm I flow 
To join the brimming river ; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

I chatter over stony ways, 
In little sharps and trebles ; 

I bubble into eddying bays, 
I babble on the pebbles. 

With many a curve my banks I fret 
By many a field and fallow. 

And many a fairy foreland set 
With willow-weed and mallow. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
To join the brimming river ; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

I wind about, and in and out, 
With here a blossom sailing. 

And here and there a lusty trout. 
And here and there, a grayling. 

And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me, as I travel, 
With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel ; 

And draw them all along, and flow 
To join the brimmiug river ; 

For men may come and men may r^« ;. 
But I go on for ever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots ; 

I slide by hazel covers ; 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for happy lovers. 



NATURE. 



33 



T slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance. 
Among my skimming swallows , 

I make the netted sunbeam dance 
Against my sandy shallows. 

I murmur under moon and stars 

In brambly wildernesses ; 
I linger by my shingly bars ; 

I loiter round my cresses ; 

And out again I curve and flow 
To join the brimming river ; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



THE QUESTIOJ^. 

I DEEAMED that, as I wandered by the way, 
Bare Winter was changed suddenly to Spring, 
And gentle odors led my steps astray. 
Mixed with the sound of waters murmuring, 
Along a shelvy bank of turf, which lay 
Cnder a copse, and hardly dared to fling 
rts green arms round the bosom of the stream, 
But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest 
in a dream. 

There grew pied wind-flowers and violets. 
Daisies — those pearled Arcturi of the earth. 
The constellated flower that never sets ; 
Faint oxlips; tender blue-bells, at whose 

birth 
The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower 

that wets 
Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, 
When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it 

hears. 

And in the warm hedge grew bush-eglantine. 
Green cow-bind and the moonlight-colored 

May; 
\iid cherry-blossoms, and white caps whose 

wine 
W Of. the bright dew yet drained not by the 

day; 
And wild roses, and ivy serpentine 
With its dark buds and leaves wandering 

astray ; 



And flowers azure, black and streaked with 

gold. 
Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. 

And nearer to the river's trembling edge, 
There grew broad flag-flowers, purple praiikl 

with white ; 
And starry river buds among the sedge 
And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, 
Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 
With moonlight beams of their own watery 

light; 
And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 

Methought that of these visionary flowers 
I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 
That the same hues, which in their natural 

bowers 
Were mingled oi opposed, the like array 
Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours 
Within my hand — and then, elate and gay, 
I hastened to the spot whence I had come, 
That I might there present it! Oh to whom? 
Peecy Bysshe Shelley. 



NATUBE. 

The bubbling brook doth leap when I come by, 
Because my feet flnd measure with its call ; 
The birds know when the friend they love is 

nigh. 
For I am known to them, both great and 

small. 
The flower that on the lonely hill-side grows 
Expects me there when Spring its bloom has 

given ; 
And many a tree and bush my wanderings 

knows, 
And e'en the clouds and silent stars of hea- 
ven; 
For he who with his Maker walks aright, 
Shall be their lord as Adam was before; 
His ear shall catch each sound with now de- 
light. 
Each object wear tlie dress that then it wore: 
And he, as when erect in soul he stood, 
Hear from his Father's lips tliat all is good. 

JONM VkEY 



84 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



TO THE SMALL CELAISTDUSTE. 

Paxsies, lilies, kingcups, daisies ; 
Let them live upon their praises ; 
Long as there 's a sun that sets, 
Primroses will have their giory ; 
Long as there are violets, 
They will have a place in story : 
There 's a flower that shall be mine, 
'T is the little Celandine. 

Eyes of some men travel far 
For the finding of a star ; 
Up and down the heavens they go. 
Men that keep a mighty rout ! 
I'm as great as they, I trow. 
Since the day I found thee out. 
Little flower! — I'll make a stir, 
Like a sage astronomer. 

Modest, yet withal an elf 
Bold, and lavish of thyself; 
Since we needs must first have met, 
I have seen thee, high and low, 
Thirty years or more, and yet 
'T was a face I did not know ; 
Thou hast now, go where I may. 
Fifty greetings in a day. 

Ere a leaf is on a bush. 

In the time before the thrush 

Has a thought about her nest. 

Thou wilt come with half a call, 

Spreading out thy glossy breast 

Like a careless prodigal ; 

Telling tales about the sun, 

When we ' ve little warmth, or none. 

Poets, vain men in their mood, 
Travel with the multitude ; 
Never heed them ; I aver 
That they all are wanton wooers ; 
But the thrifty cottager. 
Who stirs little out of doors, 
Joys to spy thee near at home ; 
Spring is coming, thou art come I 

Comfort have thou of thy merit, 
Kindly, unassuming spirit I 



Careless ot tiiy neighborhood. 
Thou dost show thy pleasant face 
On the moor, and in the wood. 
In the lane ; — there 's not a place. 
Howsoever mean it be. 
But 'tis good enough for thee, 

111 befall the yellow flowers, 
Children of the flaring Hours ! 
Buttercups, that will be seen, 
Whether we will see or no ; 
Others, too, of lofty mien ; 
They have done as worldlings do, 
Taken praise that should be thine, 
Little, humble Celandine. 

Prophet of delight and mirth. 
Ill-requited upon earth ; 
Herald of a mighty band, 
Of a joyous train ensuing ; 
Serving at my heart's command, 
Tasks that are no tasks renewing, 
I Avill sing, as doth behoove, 
Hymns in praise of what I love ! 

William "WoBDewoRXH. 



TO VIOLETS. 

Welcome, maids of honor, 

You do bring 

In the Spring, 
And wait upon her. 

She has virgins many, 

Fresh and fair ; 

Yet you are 
More sweet than any. 

Y' are the Maiden Posies, 

And so graced, 

To be placed, 
'Fore damask roses. 

Yet though thus respected, 

By and by 

Ye do lie, 
Poor girls, neglected. 

KOBEIIT HBBRIOK 



FLOWERS. 



35 



'Tis pity Nature brought ye forth, 
Merely to show your worth, 
And lose you quite. 

But you are lovely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne'er so brave ; 

And, after they have shown their pride 
Like you awhile, they glide, 
Into the grave. 

EOBEET HkBIUOK 



TO PRIMROSES. 

FILLED WITH MORNING DEW. 

WiiT do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears 
Speak grief in you, 
Who were but born 
Just as the modest morn • 

Teemed her refreshing dew ? 
Alas! ye have not known that shower 
That mars a flower ; 
!N'or felt th' unkind 
Breath of a blasting wind ; 
Kor are ye worn with years ; 
Or warped, as we. 
Who think it strange to see 
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, 
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue. 

Speak, whimpering younglings, and make 
known 
The reason why 
Ye droop and weep. 
Is it for want of sleep. 
Or childish lullaby? 
Or, that ye have not seen as yet 
The violet? 

Or brought a kiss 
From that sweetheart to this ? 
No, no ; this sorrow, shown 
By your tears shed. 
Would have this lecture read : — 
'That things of greatest, so of meanest worth. 
Conceived with grief are, and with tears 
brought forth." 

BOBEBT HeBRIOK. 



TO BLOSSOMS. 

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree. 
Why do ye fall so fast ? 
Your date is not so past 

But you may stay yet here awhile 
To blush and gently smile, 
And go at last. 

What I were ye born to be 
An hour or half's delight, 
And so to bid good-night? 



TO DAFFODILS. 

Fair daffodils ! we weep to see 

You haste away so soon ; 
As yet the early-rising sun 

Has not attained his noon : 
Stay, stay 

Until the hastening day 
Has run 

But to the even-song ; 
And, having prayed together, we 

Will go with you along. 

We have short time to stay as you , 

We have as short a Spring ; 
As quick a growth to meet decay, 

As you, or any thing : 
We die. 

As your liours do ; and dry 
Away 

Like to the summer's rain. 
Or as the pearls of morning dew, 

Ne'er to be found again. 

EOBEBT HmiKIOK. 



DAFFODILS. 

I WANDERED, loucly as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 

When all at once I saw a croAvd — 

A host of golden daffodils 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the milky way, 
They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay : 



36 



POEMS OF NATUEE. 



Ten tliousand saw I, at a glance, 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : 

A poet could not but be gay. 

In such a jocund company ; 

I gazed — and gazed — ^but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought : 

For oft, when on my couch I lie, 
In vacant or in pensive mood, 
They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude. 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 

WlILLAM WOEDSAVOETH. 



TKAILmG ARBUTUS. 

Daelings of the forest ! 
Blossoming, alone, 
WJien Earth's grief is sorest 
For her jewels gone — 
Ere the last snow-drift melts, your tender 
buds have blown. 

Tinged with color faintly. 
Like the morning sky. 
Or, more pale and saintly, 
Wrapped in leaves ye lie — 
Even as children sleep in faith's simplicity. 

There the wild wood-robm, 
Hymns your solitude ; 
And the rain comes sobbing 
Through the budding wood, 
While the low south wind sighs, but dare not 
be more rude. 

Were your pure lips fashioned 
Out of air and dew — 
Starlight unimpassioned. 
Dawn's most tender hue, 
Xnd scented by the woods that gathered 
sweets for you ? 

Fah'est and most lonely, 
From the world apart; 
Made for beauty only, 



4 



Veiled from ISTature's heart 
With such unconscious grace as makes tht- 
dream of Art ! 



Were not mortal sorrow 
An immortal shade, 
Then would I to-morrow 
Such a flower be made, 
And 'live in the dear woods where my losi 
childhood played. 

EosE Teeey. 



J 



THE RHODORA. 

LINES OlSr BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE 
FLOWEPw ? 

In May, when sea-winds pierced our soli- 
tudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook : ' 
The purple petals fallen in the pool 
Made the black waters with their beauty 
gay- 
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to 
cool, 
And court the flower that cheapens his 
array. 
Rhodora I if the sages ask thee why 
This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky 
Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for 

seeing. 
Then beauty is its own excuse for being. 

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose I 
I never thought to ask ; I never knew, 
But in my simple ignorance suppose 
The selfsame Power that brought me there. 

brought you. 

Ealph Waldo Emeeson 



TO A MOUlSTTAm DAISY, 

ox TUEXIXG ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH 
IN APRIL 1786. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my power, 

Thou bonnie gem. 



THE DAISY. 



37 



Mas I it 's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet. 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet 

Wi' speckled breast. 
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm — 
Scarce reared above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
Bigh shelt'ring woods and wa's maun 

shield ; 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

0' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread. 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed. 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betrayed. 

And guileless trust. 
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starred ; 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard. 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Sach fate to suffering worth is given, 
Wlio long with wants and woes has striven, 
f^y human pride or cunning driven 

To misery's brink. 
Till, wrenched of every stay but Heaven, 

He, ruined, sink I 



Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — ^no distant date ; 
Stern ruin's ploughshare drives elate. 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight 

Shall be thy doom ! 

EOBEBT BUUNB. 



TO A DAISY. 

Theee is a flower, a little flower 
With silver crest and golden eye, 
That welcomes every changing hour, 
And weathers every sky. 

The prouder beauties of the field. 
In gay but quick succession shine ; 
Race after race their honors yield. 
They flourish and decline. 

But this small flower, to I:^ature dear, 
While moons and stars their courses run, 
Enwreathes the circle of the year. 
Companion of the sun. 

It smiles upon the lap of May, 
To sultry August spreads its charm, 
Lights pale October on his way, 
And twines December's arm. 

The purple heath and golden broom, 
On moory mountains catch the gale ; 
O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume. 
The violet in the vale. 

But this bold floweret climbs the hill, 
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, 
Plays on the margin of the rill. 
Peeps round the fox's den. 

Within the garden's cultured round 
It shares the sweet carnation's bed ; 
And blooms on consecrated ground 
In honor of the dead. 

The lambkin crops its crimson gem ; 
The wild bee murmurs on its breast ; 
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem, 
Light o'er the skylark's nest. 



38 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



'Tis Flora's page — in every pxace, 
In every season, fresh and fair • 
It opens with perennial grace, 
And blossoms every where. 

On waste and woodland, rock and plain, 
Its humble buds unheeded rise ; 
The rose has but a summer reign ; 
The Daisy never dies ! 

James Montgomery. 



TO THE DAISY. 



Her divine skill taught me this : 
That from every thing I saw 
I couid some instruction draw, 
And raise pleasure to the height 
Through the meanest object's sight. 
By the murmur of a spring, 
Or the least bough's rustelling ; 
By a daisy whose leaves spread 
Shut when Titan goes to bed ; 
Or a shady bush or tree, 
She could more infuse in me. 
Than all Nature's beauties can 
In some other wiser man. 

George Wither. 



Ir. youth from rock to rock I went, 
From hill to hill, in discontent 
Of pleasure high and turbulent — 

Most pleased when most uneasy ; 
But now my own delights I make, 
My thirst at every rill can slake, 
And gladly IN'ature's love partake. 

Of thee, sweet Daisy ! 

Thee, Winter in the garland wears 
That thinly decks his few gray hairs ; 
Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, 

That she may sun thee ; 
Whole summer-fields are thine by right ; 
And Autumn, melancholy wight, 
Doth in thy crimson head delight 

When rains are on thee. 

In shoals and bands, a morrice train, 
Tliou greet'st tlie traveller in the lane ; 
Pleased at his greeting thee again. 

Yet nothing daunted 
Nor grieved, if thou be set at naught ; 



And oft alone in nooks remote 
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought 
When such are wanted. 

Be violets in their sacred mews 

The flowers the wanton zephyrs choose ; 

Proud be the rose, with rains and dews 

Her head impearling ; 
Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim. 
Yet hast not gone without thy fame ; 
Thou art indeed by many a claim 

The poet's darling. 

If to a rock from rains he fly. 
Or, some bright day of April sky, 
Imprisoned by hot sunshine, lie 

N^ear the green holly, 
And wearily at length should fare ; 
He needs but look about, and there 
Thou art ! — a friend at hand, to scare 

His melancholy. 

A hundred times, by rock or bower, 
Ere thus I have lain couched an hour, 
Have I derived from thy sweet power 

Some apprehension ; 
Some steady love ; some brief delight , 
Some memory that had taken flight ; 
Some chime of fancy, wrong or right ; 

Or stray invention. 

If stately passions in me burn, 

And one chance look to thee should turn 

I drink out of an humbler urn 

A lowlier pleasure ; 
The homely sympathy that heeds 
The common life our nature breeds •, 
A wisdom fitted to the needs 

Of hearts at leisure. 



Fresh-smitten by the moridng ray, 
AVhen thou art up, alert and gay. 
Then, cheerful flower ! my spirits j»Iay 

With kindred gladness ; 
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest, 
Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest 
Hath often eased my pensive breast 

Of careful sadness. 



THE DAISY. 



39 



And all day long I number yet, 
All seasons through, another debt, 
Which I, wherever thou art met, 

To thee am owing ; 
An instinct call it, a blind sense ; 
A happy, genial influence, 
Coming one knows not how, nor whence, 

!N'or whither going. 

Child of the year ! that round dost run 
Thy pleasant course, — when day 's begun, 
As ready to salute the sun 

As lark or leveret — 
Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain, 
Kor be less dear to future men 
Than in old time ; — thou not in vain 

Art IsTature's favorite. 



TO THE SAME FLOWER. 

With little here to do or see 

Of things that in the great world bo 

I >aisy ! again I talk to thee, 

For thou art worthy ; — 
Thou unassuming commonplace 
Of Mature, with that homely face, 
And yet with something of a grace. 

Which love makes for thee ! 

Ofb on the dappled turf at ease 

I sit, and play with similes — 

Loose types of things through all degrees. 

Thoughts of thy raising ; 
And many a fond and idle name 
I give to thee, for praise or blame. 
As is the humor of the game, 

While I am gazing. 

A nun demure, of lowly port ; 

Or sprightly maiden of Love's court, 

fn thy simplicity the sport 

Of all temptations ; 
A queen in crown of rubies drest ; 
A starveling in a scanty vest ; 
Are all, as seems to suit thee best. 

Thy appellations. 



A little Cyclops with one eye 
Staring to threaten and defy, 
That thought comes next, — and instantly 

The freak is over ; 
The shape will vanish, — and behold 
A silver shield with boss of gold 
That spreads itself, some fairy bold 

In fight to cover. 

I see thee glittering from afar, — 
And then thou art a pretty star ; 
Not quite so fair as many are 

In heaven above thee ! 
Yet like a star, with glittering crest. 
Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest ;— 
May peace come never to his nest, 

Who shall reprove thee ! 

Bright flower ! for by that name at last^ 

When all my reveries are past, 

I call thee, and to that cleave fast, — 

Sweet, silent creature ! 
That breath'st with me in sun and air, 
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
My heart with gladness and a share 

Of thy meek nature ! 

VTlLLIAM WORDSWOEliU 



SOIS'G OF SPRING. 

Laud the first Spring daisies ; 

Chaunt aloud their praises ; 

Send the children up 

To the high hill's top ; 

Tax not the strength of their young hands 

To increase your lands. 

Gather the primroses, 

Make handfuls into posies ; 

Take them to the little girls who are at work 

in mills ; 
Pluck the violets blue, — 
Ah, pluck not a few I 
Knowest thou what good thoughts from IXom 

ven the violet instils ? 

Give the children holidays, 
(And let these be jolly days, 



40 



POEMS OF XATURE. 



Grant freedom to tlie children in this joyous 

Spring ; 
Better men, hereafter, 
Shall we have, for laughter 
Freely shouted to che woods, till all the 

echoes ring. 
Send the children up 
To the high hill's top, 
Or deep into the wood's recesses, 
To woo Spring's caresses. 

See, the birds together, 

In this splendid weather. 

Worship God— (for he is God of birds as 

well as men) : 
And each feathered neighbor 
Enters on his labor, — 
Sparrow, robin, redpoll, finch, the linnet, 

and the wren. 
As the year advances. 
Trees their naked branches 
Clothe, and seek your pleasure in their green 

apparel. 
Insect and wild beast 
Keep no Lent, but feast ; 
Spring breathes upon the earth, and their 

joy 's increased. 
And the rejoicing birds break forth in one 

loud carol. 

Ah, come and woo the Spring ; 

List to the birds that sing ; 

Pluck the primroses ; pluck the violets : 

Pluck the daisies. 

Sing their praises ; 

Friendship with the flowers some noble 

thought begets. 
Come forth and gather these sweet elves, 
(More witching are they than the fays of 

old,) 
Come forth and gather them yourselves ; 
Learn of these gentle flowers whose worth 

is more than gold. 

Come, come into the wood ; 

Pierce into the bowers 

Df these gentle flowers, 

Which, not in solitude 

D^vell, but with each other keep society : 

And with a simple piety, 



Are ready to be woven into garlands for the 

good. 
Or, upon summer earth, 
To die, in virgin worth ; 
Or to be strewn before the bride. 
And the bridegroom, by her side. 

Come forth on Sundays ; 

Come forth on Mondays ; 

Come forth on any day ; 

Children, come forth to play ; — 

Worship the God of Nature in your child- 
hood; 

Worship Him at your tasks with best en- 
deavor ; 

Worship Him in your sports ; worship Hiin 
ever; 

Worship Him in the wildwood ; 

Worship Him amidst the flowers ; 

In the greenwood bowers ; 

Pluck the buttercups, and raise 

Your voices in His praise ! 

Edward Yoitl. 



THE BEOOM-FLOWEK. 

Oh the Broom, the yellow Broom, 

The ancient poet sung it. 
And dear it is on summer days 

To lie at rest among it. 

I know the realms where people say 
The flowers have not their fellow ; 

I know where they shine out like suns. 
The crimson and the yellow. 

1 know where ladies live enchained 

In luxury's silken fetters. 
And flowers as bright as glittering geme 

Are used for written letters. 

But ne'er was flower so fair as tJiis, 

In modern days or olden ; 
It groweth on its nodding stem 

Like to a garland golden. 

And all about my mother's door 
Shine out its glittering bushes. 



A 



FLOWERS. 



41 



And down the glen, where clear as light 
The mountain-water gushes. 

Take all the rest ; but give me this, 
And the bird that nestles in it ; 

T love it, for it loves the Broom — 
The green and yellow linnet. 

Well, call the rose the queen of flowers, 
And boast of that of Sharon, 

Of lilies like to marble cups. 
And the golden rod of Aaron : 

I care not how these flowers may be 
Beloved of man and woman ; 

The Broom it is the flower for me. 
That groweth on the common. 

Oh the Broom, the j^ellow Broom, 

The ancient poet sung it, 
And dear it is on summer days 

To lie at rest among it. 

Mary Howitt. 



THE BRAMBLE FLOWER. 

Thy fruit full well the schoolboy knows. 

Wild bramble of the brake ! 
So, put thou forth thy small white rose ; 

I love it for his sake. 
Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow 

O'er all the fragrant bowers, 
Thou need'st not be ashamed to show 

Thy satin-threaded flowers ; 

For dull the eye, the heart is dull, 

That cannot feel how fair. 
Amid all beauty beautiful, 

Thy tender blossoms are. 
How delicate thy gauzy frill, 

How rich thy branchy stem, 
How soft thy voice when woods are still. 

And thou sing'st hymns to them ; 

While silent showers are falling slow. 

And, 'mid the general hush, 
A sweet air lifts the little bough, 

Lone whispering through the bush ! 



The primrose to the grave is gone ; 

The hawthorn flower is dead ; 
The violet by the mossed gray stone 

Hath laid her weary head ; 

But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring, 

In all their beauteous power. 
The fresh green days of life's fair Spring, 

And boyhood's blossomy hour. 
Scorned bramble of the brake! once more 

Thou bidd'st me be a boy. 
To gad with thee the woodlands o'er. 

In freedom and in joy. 

Ebenezer Elliott. 



THE WILD HOI^EYSUOEXE. 

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow. 

Hid in this silent, dull retreat. 
Untouched thy honeyed blossoms blow. 
Unseen thy little branches greet : 
'No roving foot shall crush thee here, 
No busy hand provoke a tear. 

By Nature's self in white arrayed. 

She bade thee shun the vulgar eye. 
And planted here the guardian shade. 
And sent soft waters murmuring by 
Thus quietly thy summer goes — 
Thy days declining to repose. 

Smit with those charms, that must decay 

I grieve to see your future doom ; 
They died — nor were those flowers more gay- 
The flowers that did in Eden bloom ; 
Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power 
Shall leave no vestige of this flower. 



From morning suns anl evening dews 

At first thy little being came : 
If nothing once, you nothing lose, 
For when you die you are the same ; 
Tlie space between is but an liour, 
The frail duration of a flower. 

PuiLip Frenkau. 



i2 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



THE BEIEB. 

My brier that smeiiedst sweet, 
When gentle Spring's first heat 
Ean through thy quiet veins ; 
Thou that couldst injure none, 
But wouldst be left alone. 
Alone thou leave st me, and nought of thine 
remains. 

What . hath no poet's lyre 
O'er thee, sweet-breathing brier. 

Hung fondly, ill or well ? 
And yet, methinks, with thee 
A poet's sympathy, 
\Vhether in weal or woe, in life or death, 
might dwell. 

Hard usage both must bear. 
Few hands your youth will rear. 

Few bosoms cherish you ; 

Your tender prime must bleed 

Ere you are sweet ; but, freed 

From life, you then are prized ; thus prized 

are poets too. 

Walter Savage Landoe. 



TO THE DAISTDELION". 

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside 
the way. 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold ! 

First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and, full of pride, up- 
hold— 
High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that 
they 
An Eldorado in the grass have found. 

Which not the rich earth's ample round 
May match in wealth ! — thou art more dear 

to me 
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish 
prow 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas ; 

!N'or wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease. 



'T is the Spring's largess, which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand; 
Though most hearts never understand 
To take it at God's value, but pass by 
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my tropics and mme Italy ; 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime ; 

The eyes thou givest me 
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time: 
Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 
Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment 
In the white lily's breezy tent. 
His conquered Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circlea 
burst. 

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass ; 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 

Where, as the breezes pass. 
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways ; 
Of leaves that slumber In a cloudy mass, 
Or whiten in the wind ; of waters blue, 
That from the distance sparkle through 
Some woodland gap ; and of a sky above, 
Where one white cloud like a stray lamb 
doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked 
with thee ; 
The sight of thee calls back the robin's song. 

Who, from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long ; 

And I, secure in childish piety, 
Listened as if I heard an angel sing 

With news from heaven, which he did 
bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted ears, 
When birds and flowers and I were happy 
peers. 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem, 
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! 

Thou teachest me to deem 
More sacredly of every human heart, 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 
Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret 
show. 
Did we but pay the love we owe. 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 
James Efssefl Lowell. 



FLOWERS. 



4h 



THE VIOLET. 

! faint, delicious, spring-time violet 

Thine odor, like a key. 
Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let 

A thought of sorrow free. 

The breath of distant fields upon my brow 
Blows through that open door 

The sound of wind-borne bells, more sweet 
and low. 
And sadder than of yore 

It comes afar, from that beloved place, 

And that beloved hour, 
When life hung ripening in love's golden 
grace, 

Like grapes above a bower. 

A spring goes singing through its reedy grass ; 

The lark sings o'er my head. 
Drowned in the sky — pass, ye visions, pass! 

I would that I were dead ! — 

Why hast thou opened that forbidden door 

From which I ever flee ? 
(J vanished Joy ! Love, that art no more. 

Let my vexed spirit be ' 

violet ! thy odor through my brain 

Hath searched, and stung to grief 

This sunny day, as if a curse did stain 

Thy velvet leaf. 

William W. Stort. 



FLOWERS. 

I wiLi not have the mad Clytie, 
Whose head is turned by the sun ; 
The tulip is a courtly quean. 
Whom, therefore, I will shun ; 
The cowslip is a country wench 
Tlie violet is a nun ; — 
But I will woo the dainty rose, 
Tlie queen of every one. 

The pea is but a wanton witch, 
In too much haste to wed, 
And clasps her rings on every hand ; 
The wolfsbane I should dread ; — 



Nor will I dreary rosemarye. 
That always mourns the aead ; — 
But I will woo the dainty rose. 
With her cheeks of tender red. 

Th^ lily is all in white, like a saint, 

And so is no mate for me — 

And the daisy's cheek is tipped with a blusk 

She is of such low degree ; 

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves, 

And the broom 's betrothed to the bee ; — 

But I will plight with the dainty rose. 

For fairest of all is she. 

Thomas Hood, 



THE ROSE. 

Go, lovely rose ! 
Tell her that wastes her time and me 

That now she knows, 
When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Tell her that 's young. 
And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That hadst thou sprung 
In deserts where no men abide. 
Thou must ha-^e uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired; 

Bid her come forth — 
Suffer herself to be desired, 
And not blush so to be admired. 

Then die, that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee — 
How small a part of time they share 
That are so wondrous sweet and fair. 

Edmund Walliih, 



OAI^TZOI^ET. 

Flowers are fresh, and bushes green, 

Cheerily the linnets sing ; 
Winds are soft, and skies serene ; 

Time, however, soon shall throw 
Winter's snow 

O 'er the buxom breast of Spring I 



u 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Hope, that buds in lover's heart, 

Lives not through the scorn of years ; 

Time makes love itself depart ; 

Time and scorn congeal the mind — 

Looks unkind 
Freeze affection's warmest tears. 

Time shall make the bushes green ; 
Time dissolve the winter snow ; 
Winds be soft, and skies serene ; 
Linnets sing their wonted strain. 

But again 
Blighted love shall never blow ! 

Lui8 DE Camobns, (Portugese.) 
Trauslation of Lord Steangfokd. 



CHOBUS OF FLOWEKS. 

We are the sweet flowers. 
Born of sunny showers, 
(Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty 
saith ;) 
Utterance, mute and bright, 
Of some unknown delight, 
We fill the air with pleasure, by our simple 
breath : 
All who see us love us — 
We befit all places ; 
Unto sorrow we give smiles — and unto graces, 
races. 

Mark our ways, how noiseless 
All, and sweetly voiceless. 
Though the March- winds pipe to make our 
passage clear ; 
I^ot a whisper tells 
Where our small seed dwells, 
Kor is known the moment green when our 
tips appear. 
We thread the earth in silence. 
In silence build our bowers — 
And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh 
a- top, sweet flowers. 

The dear lumpish baby, 
Humming with the May-bee, 
Hails us with his bright star, stumbling 
throu£:h the grass ; 



The honey-dropping moon. 
On a night in June, 
Kisses our pale pathway leaves, that felt tbr. 
bridegroom pass. 
Age, the withered dinger, 
On us mutely gazes. 
And wraps the thought of his last bed in hif? 
childhood's daisies. 

See (and scorn all duller 
Taste) how Heaven loves color ; 
How great Nature, clearly, joys in red and 
green ; 
What sweet thoughts she thinks 
Of violets and pinks. 
And a thousand flushing hues made solely to 
be seen ; 
See her whitest lilies 
Chill the silver showers, 
And what a red mouth is her rose, the woman 
of her flowers. 

Uselessness divinest, 

Of a use the finest, 
Painteth us, the teachers of the end of use • 

Travelers, weary-eyed, 

Bless us, far and wide ; 
Unto sick and prisoned thoughts we give sud 
den truce ; 

Not a poor town window 

Loves its sickliest planting. 
But its wall speaks loftier truth than Babylo- 
nian vaunting. 

Sagest yet the uses 

Mixed with our sweet juices. 

Whether man or May-fly profit of the balm ; 
As fair fingers healed 
Knights from the olden field, 

We hold cups of mightiest force to give the 
wildest calm. 
Even the terror, poison, 
Hath its plea for blooming ; 

Life it gives to reverent lips, though death to 
the presuming. J 

I 
And oh ! our sweet soul-taker, 

That thief, the honey-maker, 

What a house hath he, by the thymy glenl 

Ln his talking rooms 

How the feasting fumes 



FLOWERS. 



45 



rill tlie gold cups overflow to the mouths of 
men! 
The butterflies come aping 
Those fine thieves of ours, 
And flutter round our rifled tops, like tickled 
flowers with flowers. 

Ree those tops, how beauteous ! 
What fair service duteous 
Kound some idol waits, as on their lord the 
Mne. 
Elfin court 't would seem, 
And taught, perchance, that dream 
Which the old Greek mountain dreamt, upon 
nights divine. 
To expound such wonder 
Human speech avails not , 
Yet there dies no poorest weed, that such a 
glory exhales not. 

Think of all these treasures. 
Matchless works and pleasures. 
Every one a marvel, more than thought can 
say 
Tnen think in what bright shower& 
We thicken fields and bowers, 
A ad with what heaps of sweetness half stifle 
wanton May ; 
Think of the mossy forests 
By the bee-birds haunted, 
Ajid all those Amazonian plains, lone lying 
as enchanted. 

Trees themselves are ours ; 
Fruits are born of flowers ; 
Peach, and roughest nut, were blossoms in 
the Spring ; 
The lusty bee knows well 
The news, and comes pell-mell. 
And dances in the gloomy thicks with dark- 
some antheming ; 
Beneath the very burden 
Of planet-pressing ocean, 
We wash our smiling cheeks in peace — a 
thought for meek devotion. 

Tears of Phoibus — missings 
Of Cytherea^s kissings, 
Have in us been found, and wise men find 
them still ; 



Drooping grace unfurls 
Still Hyacinthus' curls. 
And iNTarcissus loves himself in the selfish 
rill; 
Thy red lip, Adonis, 
Still is wet with morning ; 
And the step that bled for thee the rosy 
brier adorning. 

Oh ! true things are fables, 
Fit for sagest tables. 
And the flowers are true things — yet no fti- 
bles they ; 
Fables were not more 
Bright, nor loved of yore- - 
Yet they grew not, like the flowers, by every 
old pathway ; 
Grossest hand can test us — 
Fools may prize us never — 
Yet we rise, and rise, and rise — ^marvels sweet 
for ever. 

Who shall say that flowers 
Dress not heaven's own bowers ? 

Who its love, without us, can fancy — or sweet 
floor? 
Who shall even dare 
To say we sprang not there — 

And came not down, that Love might bring 
one piece of heaven the more ? 
Oh ! pray believe that angles 
From those blue dominions 

Brought us in their white laps down, 'twixt 

their golden pinions. 

Leigh Uxrvi. 



FLOWERS. 

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 

When he called the flowers, so blue and 
golden, 
Stars, tliat in earth's firmament do shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read our histoiy, 
As astrologers and seers of eld ; 

Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, 
Like the burning stars which they beheld 



46 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
God hath written in those stars above ; 

But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revelation. 
Writ all over this great w orld of ours — 

ALaking evident our own creation. 
In these stars of earth, these golden flow- 
ers. 

And the poet, faithful and far-seeing. 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 

Of the self-same, universal being 

Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 

Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, 
Buds that open only to decay ; 

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues. 
Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; 

Large desires, with most uncertain issues. 
Tender wishes, blossoming at night ; 

These in flowers and men are more than 
seeming ; 

Workings are they of the self-same powers 
Which the poet, in no idle dreaming, 

Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 

Everywhere about us are they glowing — 
Some, like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 

Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, 
Stand, like Ruth, amid the golden corn. 

Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, 
And in Summer's green-emblazoned field. 

But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, 
In the centre of his brazen shield ; 

Not alone in meadows and green alleys. 
On the mountain-top, and by the brink 

Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys. 
Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink • 

Not alone in her vast dome of glory. 
Not on graves of bird and beast alone. 

But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, 
On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone; 



In the cottage of the rudest peasant ; . 

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towJj 
ers, " 

Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 

Tell us of the ancient Games of Flower? u 

In all places, then, and in all seasons. 

Flowers expand their light and soul-like 
wings. 

Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, 
How akin they are to human things. 



And with childlike, credulous affectioii, 
We behold their tender buds expand — 

Emblems of our own great resurrection. 
Emblems of the bright and better land. 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 



HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 

Day-staks! that ope your eyes with mom 
to twinkle 

From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation, 
And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle 
As a libation ! 

Ye matm worshippers ! who bending lowly 

Before the uprisen sun — God's lidless eye — 
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
Incense on high ! 

Ye bright mosaics ! that with storied beauty 

The floor of Nature's temple tessellate. 
What numerous emblems of instructive duty 
Your forms create ! 



'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that 
swingeth 
And tolls its perfume on the passing air, 
Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 
A call to prayer. 

Not to the domes where crumbling arch and 
column 
Attest the feebleness of mortal hand 
But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, 
Which God hath planned 



NATURE AND THE POETS. 



47 



i 



To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, 
Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon 
supply- 
Its choir the winds and waves, its organ 
thunder, 

Its dome the sky. 

There — as in solitude and shade I wander 
Through the green aisles, or, stretched upon 
the sod, 
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder 
The ways of God — 

Your voiceless lips, O Flowers, are living 
preachers. 
Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book. 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 
From loneliest nook. 

Floral apostles ! that in dewy splendor 
" Weep without woe, and blush without a 
crime," 

may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender. 
Your lore sublime ! 

'" TJiou wert not, Solomon ! in all thy glory. 
Arrayed," the lilies cry, "in robes like 
ours; 
How vain your grandeur ! Ah, how transitory 
Are human flowers ! " 

In the sweet-scented pictures. Heavenly Art- 
ist! 
With which thou paintest Nature's wide- 
spread hall. 
What a delightful lesson thou impartest 
Of love to all. 

Not useless are ye. Flowers ! though made 
for pleasure : 
Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and 
■ night, 
From every source your sanction bids me 
treasure 

Harmless delight. 

Ephemeral sages ! what mstructors hoary 
For such a world of thought could furnish 
scope ? 
Each fading calyx a memento mori^ 
Yet fount of ho])e. 



Posthumous glories ! angel-like collection ! 
Upraised from seed or bulb interred in 
earth. 
Ye are to me a type of resurrection, 
And second birth. 

Were I, O God, in churchless lands remain 
ing, 
Far from all voice of teachers or divines. 
My soul would find, in flowers of thy ordain- 
ing, 

Priests, sermons, shrines ! 

HOBACE SmITII. 



NATURE AND THE POETS. 

I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill. 

The air was cooling, and so very still, 

That the sweet buds, which with a modest 

pride 
Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, 
Their scanty -leaved and finely-tapering stems, 
Had not yet lost their starry diadems 
Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. 
The clouds were pure and white as flocks 

new-shorn, 
And fresh from the clear brook ; sweetly 

they slept 
On the blue fields of heaven, and then there 

crept 
A little noiseless noise among the leaves. 
Born of the very sigh that silence heaves ; 
For not the faintest motion could be seen 
Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. 
There was wide wandering, for the greediest 

eye 
To peer about upon variety — 
Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, 
And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim- 
To picture out the quaint and curious bend- 
ing 
Of a fresh woodland alley never-ending — 
Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves. 
Guess where the jaunty streams refresh them 

selves. 
I gazed awhile, and felt as light and free 
As though the fanning wings of Mercury 
Had played upon my heels: I was light- 
hearted. 
And many pleasures to my vision started ; 



48 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



So I straightway began to pluck a posy, 
Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy : 
A bush of May-flowers with the bees about 

them; 
Ah, sure no tasteful nook could be without 

them! 
And let a lush laburnum oyersweep them, 
And let long grass grow round the roots, to 

keep them 
Moist, cool, and green ; and shade the violets. 
That they may bind the mos^ in leafy nets. 

A iilbert-hedge with wild brier overtwined. 
And clumps of woodbine, taking the soft 

wind 
Upon their summer thrones ; there too should 

be 
The frequent chequer of a youngling tree, 
That with a score of light green brethren 

shoots 
From the quaint mossiness of aged roots. 
Round which is heard a spring-head of clear 

waters. 
Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters. 
The spreading blue-bells : it may haply mourn 
That such fair clusters should be rudely torn 
From their fresh beds, and, scattered thought- 
lessly 
By infant hands, left on the path to die. 

Open afresh your round of starry folds. 
Ye ardent marigolds ! 

Dry up the moisture from your golden lids. 
For great Apollo bids 
That in these days your praises should be 

sung 
On many harps, which he has lately strung ; 
And when again your dewiness he kisses, 
Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses : 
So, haply, when I rove in some far vale. 
His mighty voice may come upon the gale. 

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight — 
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white. 
And taper fingers catching at all things, 
Tc bind them all about with tiny rings. 
Linger awhile upon some bending planks 
That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks. 
And watch intently Nature's gentle doings : 
Tbey will be found softer than ring-doves' 
cooings. 



How silent comes the water round that bend I 
iTot the minutest whisper does it send 
To the o'erhanging sallows : blades of grass 
Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass. 
Why you might read two sonnets, ere they 

reach 
To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preacli 
A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds ; 
Where swarms of minnows show their little 

heads. 
Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the stream^, 
To taste the luxury of sunny beams 
Tempered with coolness. How they ever 

wrestle 
With their own sweet delight, and ever 

nestle 
Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand ! 
If you but scantily hold out the hand, ■ 

That very instant not one will remain ; 
But turn your eye. and they are there again. 

The ripples seem right glad to reach those 

crosses. 
And cool themselves among the emeniJAl 

tresses ; 
The while they cool themselves, they fresh- 
ness give. 
And moisture, that the bowery green may live : 
So keeping up an interchange of favors. 
Like good men in the truth of their beha- 
viors. 
Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop 
From low-hung branches ; little space they 

stop. 
But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek ; 
Then off at once, as in a wanton freak : 
Or perhaps, to show their black and golden 

wings. 
Pausing upon their yellow flutterings. 

Were I in such a place, I sure should pray 
That nought less sweet might call my thoughf"?" 

away. 
Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown 
Fanning away the dandelion's down ; I 

Than the light music of her nimble toes 
Patting against the sorrel as she goes. 
How she would start and blush, thus to be 

caught 
Playing in all her innocence of thought ' I 



NATURE AND THE POETS. 



49 



O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, 
Watch her half-smiling lips and downward 

look; 
O let me for one moment touch her wrist ; 
Let me one moment to her breathing list ; 
And as she leaves me, may she often turn 
Her fair eyes looking through her locks au- 
burn. 

What next ? a tuft of evening primroses. 
O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes ; 
O'er which it well might take a pleasant 

sleep, 
But that 'tis ever startled by the leap 
Of buds into ripe flowers ; or by the flitting 
Of divers moths, that aye their rest are quit- 
ting; 
Or by tlie moon lifting her silver rim 
Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim 
Coming into the blue with all her light. 

O Maker of sweet poets ! dear delight 
Of this fair world and all its gentle livers ; 
Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers, 
Mingler with leaves, and dew, and tumbling 

streams ; 
Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams ; 
Lover of loneliness, and wandering. 
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering ! 

Thee must I praise above all other glories 
That smile us on to tell delightful stories. 
For what has made the sage or poet write. 
But the fair paradise of ITature's light ? 
In the calm grandeur of a sober line. 
We see the waving of the mountain pine ; 
And when a tale is beautifully staid, 
' We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade ; 
When it is moving on luxurious wings. 
The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings ; 
Fair dewy roses brush against our faces. 
And flowering laurels spring from diamond 

vases ; 
O'erhead we see the jasmine and sweet- 
brier, 
^nd bloomy grapes laughing from green 

attire ; 
While at our feet, the voice of crystal bub- 
bles 
Charms us at once away from all our trou- 
bles, 

1] 



So that we feel uplifted from the world, 
Walking upon the white clouds wreathed and 
curled. 

So felt he who first told how Psyche went 

On the smooth wind to realms of wonder- 
ment ; 

What Psyche felt, and Love, when their full 
lips 

First touched; what amorous and fondling 
nips 

They gave each other's cheeks — with all 
their sighs, 

And how they kist each other's tremulous 
eyes; 

The silver lamp — ^the ravishment — ^the won- 
der — 

The darkness — loneliness — the fearful thun- 
der ; 

Their woes gone by, and both to heaven up 
flown. 

To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne. 

So did he feel, who pulled the boughs aside, 
That we might look into a forest wide, 
To catch a glimpse of Fauns, and Dryades 
Coming with softest rustle through the trees ; 
And garlands woven of flowers wild, and 

sweet, 
Upheld on ivory wrists, or sporting feet : 
Telling us how fair trembling Syrinx fled 
Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread. 
Poor Kymph, — poor Pan, — ^liow did he weep 

to find 
IsTought but a lovely sighing of the wind 
Along the reedy stream ! a half-heard strain, 
Full of sweet desolation — balmy pain. 

What first inspired a bard of old to sing 
^Narcissus pining o'er the untainted spring ? 
In some delicious ramble he had found 
A little space, with boughs all woven round: 
And in the midst of all, a clearer pool 
Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool 
The blue sky here and there serenely peep- 
ing, 
Through tendril wreaths fantastically creep- 
ing. 
And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, 
A meek and forlorn flower, with nought of 
pi'ide. 



50 



POEMS OF NATUKE. 



Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clear- 
ness, 

To woo its own sad image into nearness. 

Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move ; 

But still would seem to droop, to pine, to 
love. 

So while the poet stood in this sweet spot. 

Some fainter gleamings o'er his fancy shot ; 

Nor was it long ere he had told the tale 

Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's bale. 

Where had he been, from whose warm 
head outflew 
That sweetest of all songs, that ever knew 
That aye refreshing, pure deliciousness. 
Coming ever to bless 

The wanderer by moonlight — to him bring- 
ing 
Shapes from the invisible world, unearthly 

singing 
?rom out the middle air, from flowery nests. 
And from the pillowy silkiness that rests 
Full in the speculation of the stars ? 
Ah ! surely he had burst our mortal bars ; 
Into some wondrous region he had gone, 
3 o search for thee, divine Endymion ! 

lie was a poet, sure a lover too, 
Who stood on Latmos' top, what time there 

blew 
Soft breezes from the myrtle vale below ; 
And brought, in faintness solemn, sweet, and 

slow, 
A hymn from Dian's temple ; while upswell- 

The incense went to her own starry dwell- 
ing. 

But though her face was clear as infants' 
eyes. 

Though she stood smiling o'er the sacrifice, 

The poet wept at her so piteous fate, 

Wept that such beauty should be desolate. 

So in fine wrath some golden sounds he 
won, 

And gave meek Cynthia her Endymion. ^ 

Queen of the wide air ; thou most lOvely 
queen 
Of all tlte brightness that mme eyes have 
oeenl 



As thou exceedest all things in thy sliinc-. 
So every tale does this sweet tale of thine. 
for three words of honey, that I might 
Tell but one wonder of thy bridal night ! 

Where distant ships do seem to show theh 
keels, 
Phoebus awhile delayed his mighty wheels. 
And turned to smile upon thy bashful eyes. 
Ere he his unseen pomp would solemnize. 
The evening weather was so bright, and clear, 
That men of health were of unusual cheer. 
Stepping like Homer at the trumpet's call, 
Or young Apollo on the pedestal ; 
And lovely women were as fair and warm 
As Venus looking sideways in alarm, 



i 



The breezes were ethereal, and pure, 
And crept through half-closed lattices to cure 
The languid sick : it cool'd their fever'd sleep, 
And soothed them into slumbers full an(J 

deep. 
Soon they awoke clear-eyed ; nor burp\' 

with thirsting, 
Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples buiBT 

ing; 
And springing up, they met the wonderinu 

sight 

Of their dear friends, nigh foolish with de- 
light, 
Who feel their arms and breasts, and kiss^ 

and stare. 
And on their placid foreheads part the hair. 
Young men and maidens at each other gazed. 
With hands held back, and motionless. 

amazed 
To see the brightness in each other's eyes ; 
And so they stood, filled with a sweet sur- 
prise, 
Until their tongues were loosed in poesy. j 
Therefore no lover did of anguish die ; 
But the soft numbers, in that moment spoken, 
Made silken ties that never may be broken. 

Cynthia ! I cannot tell the greater blisses 
That foUow'd thine, and thy dear shepherd'? 

kisses : 
Was there a poet born ? — ^But now no more— 
My wandering spirit must no farther soar. 

Jomr KiCATS. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 



51 



TO THE NIGHTIE"GALE. 

Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray 
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are 

still. 
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost 
fill, 
While the jolly hours lead on propitious 

May. 
Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day, 
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's 

bill. 
Portend success in love. Oh if Jove's will 
Have linked that amorous power to thy 
soft lay, 
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate 
Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove 

nigh; 
As thou from year to year hast sung too 
late 
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. 
Whether the Muse or Love call thee his 

mate, 
Both them I serve, and of their train am I. 

John Milton. 



ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 

As it fell upon a day, 

In the merry month of May, 

Sitting in a pleasan*, shade 

Which a grove of myrtles made, 

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing. 

Trees did grow, and plants did spring ; 

Every thing did banish moan, 

Save the nightingale alone. 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn. 

Lean 'd her breast up-till a thorn ; 

And there sung the dolefull 'st ditty 

That to hear it was great pity. 

Fie, fie, fie ! now would she cry ; 

Teru, teru, by-and-by ; 

That, to hear her so complain, 

Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 

For her griefs, so lively shown. 

Made me think upon mine own. 

All ! (thouglit I) thou mourn 'st in vain ; 

None takes pity on thy pain ; 



Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 

Ruthless bears, they will not cheer theo ; 

King Pandion, he is dead ; 

All thy friends are lapped in lead : 

All thy fellow-birds do sing. 

Careless of thy sorrowing ! 

Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled. 

Thou and I were both beguiled, 

Every one that flatters thee 

Is no friend in misery. 

Words are easy, like the wind ; 

Faithful friends are hard to find. 

Every man will be thy friend 

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; 

But, if stores of crowns be scant. 

No man will supply thy want. 

If that one be prodigal, 

Bountiful they will him call ; 

And, with such-like flattering, 

"Pity but he were a king." 

If he be addict to vice, 

Quickly him they will entice ; 

But if Fortune once do frown. 

Then farewell his great renown : 

They that fawned on him before, 

Use his company no more. 

He that is thy friend indeed. 

He will help thee in thy need ; 

If thou sorrow, he will weep. 

If thou wake, he cannot sleep. 

Thus, of every grief in heart. 

He with thee doth bear a part. 

These are certain signs to know 

Faithful friend from flattering foe. 

ElCHAED BaBNFIELD. 



TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 

Dear chorister, who from those shadows 
sends — 

Ere that the blushing morn dare show her 
light — 

Such sad lamenting strains, that night at- 
tends, 

Become all ear, stars stay to hear thy plight; 

If one whose grief oven reach of thought 
transcends. 

Who ne'er (not in a dream) did taste delight, 

May thee importune who like case pretends, 



52 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite ; 
Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, 
And long, long sing!) for what thou thus 

complains. 
Since Winter 's gone, and sun in dappled sky 
Enamored smiles on woods and flowery 

plains ? 

The bird, as if my questions did her move, 

With trembling wings sighed forth, "I love, 

I love." 

William Drummond. 



ODE TO A NIGHTIKGALE. 

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk ; 
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 

One minute past, and Lethe-ward had sunk. 
*T is not through envy of thy happy lot. 

But being too happy in thy happiness, 
That thou, xight-winged Dryad of the trees. 
In some melodious plot 

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
8ingest of Summer in full-throated ease. 

Oh for a draught of vintage 

Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth, 
Tasting of Flora and the country green, 
Dance, and Provencal song, and sun-burned 
mirth ! 
Oh for a beaker full of the warm South, 

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim. 
And purple-stained mouth — 
That I might drink, and leave the world 
unseen, 
And with thee fade away into the forest dim. 

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 
What thou among the leaves hast never 
known — 
The weariness, the fever, and the fret; 
Here, where men sit and hear each other 
groan — 
Where palsy shakes a few sad, last gray 
hairs — 
Wliere youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, 
and dies — 



Where but to think is to be full of sorrow, 
And leaden-eyed despairs — 
Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous 
eyes. 

Or new love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 

Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee ! 

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 
But on the viewless wings of poesy, 
Though the dull brain perplexes and re- 
tards ; 
Already with thee tender is the night. 

And haply the queen-moon is on her throne, 
Clustered around by all her starry fays ; 
But here there is no light. 
Save what from heaven is with the breezee 
blown 
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy 
ways. * 

I can not see what flowers are at my feet, 
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the 
boughs ; 
But, in embalmed darkness guess each swee^ 
W^herewith the seasonable month endowi 
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree 
wild : 
White hawthorn and the pastoral eglantine ; 
Fast-fading violets, covered up in leaves ; 
And mid-May's oldest child, 
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, 
The murmurous haunt of bees on summei 
eves. 

Darkling I listen ; and for many a time 

I have been half in love with easeful Death, 
Called him soft names in many a mused 
rhyme. 
To take into the air my quiet breath ; 
ISTow, more than ever, seems it rich to die, 

To cease upon the midnight, with no pain, 
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad, 
In such an ecstasy ! 
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears iu 
vain — 
To thy high requiem become a sod. 

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! 

No hungry generations tread thee down ; 
The voice I hear this passing night was heai d 

In ancient days by emperor and clown • 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 



Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick 
for home. 
She stood in tears amid the alien corn : 
The same that oft-times hath 
Charmed magic casements opening on the 
foam 
Of perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn. 

Forlorn ! the very word i^ like a bell, 

To toll me back from thee to my sole self I 
Adieu ! the Fancy can not cheat so well 

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades 
Past the near meadows, over the still 
stream. 
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep 
In the next valley-glades : 
Was it a vision or a waking dream ? 
Fled is that music— do I wake or sleep ? 

John Keats. 



PHILOMELA. 

Hark ! ah, the Nightingale ! 
The tawny -throated ! 

Hark ! from that moonlit cedar what a burst ! 
What triumph ! hark — what pain ! 
O wanderer from a Grecian shore. 
Still — after many years, in distant lands — 
Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain 
That wild, unquer^hed, deep-sunken, old- 
world pain — 

Say, will it never heal ? 
And can this fragrant lawn. 
With its cool trees, and night. 
And the sweet, tranquil Thames, 
And moonshine, and the dew. 
To thy racked heart and brain 
A fford no balm ? 

Dost thou to-night behold. 
Here, through the moonlight on this English 

grass, 
Ti e unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild? 

Dost thou again peruse. 
With hot cheeks and seared eyes, 
The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's 
shame ? 



Dost thou once more essay 
Thy flight; and feel come over thee, 
Poor fugitive, the feathery change ; 
Once more ; and once more make resound. 
With love and hate, triumph and agony, 
Lone Daulis, and the high Cephisian vale ? 

Listen, Eugenia — 

How thick the bursts come crowding through 

the leaves ! 

Again — thou hearest ! 

Eternal passion ! 

Eternal pain ! 

Matthew Abnolh 



THE IsTIGHTmGALE AND THE DOVE. 

Nightingale ! thou surely art 
A creature of a "fiery heart" ; 

These notes of thine, — they pierce and pierce: 

Tumultuous harmony and fierce ! 

Thou sing 'st as if the god of wine 

Had helped thee to a valentine — 

A song in mockery, and despite 

Of shades, and dews, and silent night, 

And steady bliss, and all the loves 

Now sleeping in these peaceful groves. 

1 heard a stock-dove sing or say 
His homely tale, this very day ; 
His voice was buried among trees, 
Yet to be come at by the breeze : 

He did not cease ; but cooed — and cooed ; 
And somewhat pensively he wooed : 
He sang of love, with quiet blending. 
Slow to begin, and never ending ; 
Of serious faith, and inward glee ; 
That was the song, the song for me ! 

William Wordswouth. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 

No cloud, no relict of the sunken day 
Distinguishes the West ; no long thin slip 
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. 
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge, 
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, 
But hear no murmuring ; it flows silently 



54 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still ; 
A balmy night ! and though the stars be dim, 
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers 
That gladden the green earth, and we shall 

find 
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. 
And hark ! the Nightingale begins its song — 
" Most musical, most melancholy " bird ! 
A melancholy bird ! Oh, idle thought ! 
In Nature there is nothing melancholy. 
But some night -wandering man, whose heart 

was pierced 
With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, 
Or slow distemper, or neglected love, 
(And so, poor wretch ! filled all things with 

himself, 
And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale 
Of his own sorrow) — he, and such as he, 
First named these notes a melancholy strain. 
And many a poet echoes the conceit — 
Poet wlio hath been building up the rhyme 
When he had better far have stretched his 

limbs 
Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell. 
By sun or moonlight ; to the influxes 
Of shapes, and sounds, and shifting elements. 
Surrendering his whole spirit ; of his song 
And of his fame forgetful ! so his fame 
Should share in Nature's immortality — 
A venerable thing ! — and so his song 
Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself 
Be loved like Nature ! But 'twill not be so ; 
And youths and maidens most poetical. 
Who lose the deepening twilights of the 

Spring 
[n ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still, 
Full of meek sympathy, must heave their 

sighs 
O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains. 

My friend, and thou, our sister! we have 

learnt 
A different lore : we may not thus profane 
Nature's sweet voices, always full of love 
And joyance ! 'T is the merry Nightingale 
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates 
With fast thick warble his delicious notes. 
As he were fearful that an April night 
Would be too short for him to utter forth 
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul 
Of all its music ! 



And I know a grove 
Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, 
Which the great lord inhabits not ; and so 
This grove is wild with tangling underwood; 
And the trim walks are broken up ; and grass. 
Thin grass and kingcups grow within the pathe. 
But never elsewhere in one place I knew 
So many nightingales. And far and near, 
In wood and thicket, over the wide grove, 
They answer and provoke each other's song, 
With skirmish and capricious passagings. 
And murmurs musical and swift jug jug. 
And one low piping sound more sweet than 

all- 
Stirring the air with such a harmony, 
That should you close your eyes, you might 

almost 
Forget it was not day ! On moon-lit bushes, 
Whose dewy leaflets are but half disclosed, 
You may perchance behold them on the twigs, 
Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both 

bright and full. 
Glistening, while many a glowworm in the 

shade 
Lights up her love-torch. 

A most gentle maid, 
AVho dwelkth in her hospitable home 
Hard by the castle, and at latest eve, 
(Even like a lady vowed and dedicate 
To something more than Nature in the grove,) 
Glides through the pathways — she knows all 

their notes. 

That gentle maid ! and oft, a moment's space, 
What time the moon was lost behind a cloud, 
Hath heard a pause of silence ; till the moon, 
Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky 
With one sensation, and these wakeful birds 
Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy. 
As if some sudden gale had swept at once 
A hundred airy harps ! And she hath 

watched 
Many a nightingale perched giddily 
On blossomy twig still swinging from the 

breeze. 
And to that motion tune his wanton song, 
Like tipsy Joy that reels with tossing head. 

Farewell, O warbler ! till to-morrow eve , 
And you, my friends ! farewell, a short fare 
well I 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 



55 



We have been loitering long and pleasantly, 
And now for our dear homes. — That strain 

again ! 
Full fain it would delay me ! My dear babe, 
Who, capable of no articulate sound, 
Mars all things with his imitative lisp. 
How he would place his hand beside his ear, 
His little hand, the small forefinger up. 
And bid us listen ! And I deem it wise 
To make him Nature's playmate. He know^s 

well 
The evening-star ; and once when he awoke 
In most distressful mood, (some inward pain 
Had made up that strange thing, an infant's 

dream,) 
I hurried with him to our orchard-plot, 
And he beheld the moon ; and, hushed at once. 
Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently. 
While his fair eyes, that swam with undrop- 

ped tears. 
Did glitter in the yellow moonbeam ! Well ! — 
It is a father's tale ; but if that Heaven 
Should give me life, his childhood shall grow 

up 
Familiar with these songs, that w^ith the 

night 

He may associate joy. — Once more, farewell, 

Sweet Nightingale ! Once more, my friends ! 

farewell. 

Samuel Tatloe Coleridgs. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 

Prize thou the nightingale. 
Who soothes thee with his tale. 
And wakes the woods around ; 
A singing feather he — a winged and w^ander- 
ing sound ; 

Whose tender caroling 
Sets all ears listening 
Unto that living lyre, 
Wlience flow the airy notes his ecstacies in- 
spire : 

Wliose shrill, capricious song 
Breathes like a flute along. 
With many a careless tone — 
Music of thousand tongues, formed by one 
tonccue alone. 



O charming creature rare ! 
Can aught with thee compare ? 
Tliou art all song — thy breast 
Thrills for one month o' th' year — is tranquil 

all the rest. 

Thee wondrous we may call — 
Most wondrous this of all, 
That such a tiny throat 
Should w^ake so loud a sound, and pour so 
loud a note. 

Maria TESSELScnADE Yisscher. (Dulch> 
Translation of Joun Bowrino. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 

The rose looks out in the valley. 

And thither will I go ! 
To the rosy vale, where the nightingale 

Sings his song of woe. 

The virgin is on the river side. 

Culling the lemons pale : 
Thither — yes! thither will I go. 

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale 
Sings his song of woe. 

The fairest fruit her hand hath culled, 

'T is for her lover all : 
Thither-^yes ! thither w^ill I go. 

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale, 
Sings his song of woe. 

In her hat of straw, for her gentle swain. 

She lias placed the lemons pale : 
Thither — yes ! thither will I go. 

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale: 
Sings his song of woe. 

Gil Vicente. (Portuguosd) 
Translation of John Bowrino. 



THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE. 

I HAVE seen a nightingale 
On a sprig of thyme bewail, 
Seeing the dear nest, which was 
Hers alone, borne off^, alas ! 
By a laborer ; I heard. 
For this outrage, the poor biid 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Say a thousand mournful things 
To the wind, which, on its wings, 
From her to the guardian of the sky, 
Bore her melancholy cry — 
Bore her tender tears. She spake 
As if her fond heart would hreak : 
One while, in a sad, sweet note. 
Gurgled from her straining throat. 
She enforced her piteous tale, 
Mournful prayer, and plaintive wail ; 
One while, with the shrill dispute 
Quite outwearied, she was mute : 
Then afresh, for her dear hrood. 
Her harmonious shrieks renewed. 
Now she winged it round and round ; 
Kow she skimmed along the ground ; 
N'ow, from hough to hough, in haste, 
The delighted robher chased, 
And, alighting in his path. 
Seemed to say, 'twixt grief and wrath, 
*' Give me hack, fierce rustic rude — 
Give me back my pretty brood ! " 
And I saw the rustic still 
Answered, *' That, T never will ! " 

EsTEVAN Manuel dk Yillegas. (Spanish) 
Trsjislation of Thomas Eoscoe . 



THE LIGHTING ALE^S DEPARTURE. 

Sweet poet of the woods — a long adieu ! 

Farewell, soft minstrel of the early year ! 
Ah ! 't will be long ere thou shalt sing anew, 
And pour thy music on ^' the night's dull 
ear." 
Whether on Spring thy wandering flights 
await, 
Or whether silent in our groves you dwell. 
The pensive Muse shall own thee for her 
mate. 
And still protect the song she loves so well. 
With cautious step the love-lorn youth shall 
glide 
Through the long brake that shades thy 
mossy nest ; 
And shepherd girls from eyes profane shall 
hide 
The gentle bird who sings of pity best : 
For still tby voice shall soft affections move. 
And still be dear to sorrow, and to lOve ! 
Charlotte Smith. 



TO A WATERFOWL. 

Whither, 'midst falling dew. 
While glow the heavens with the last steps ot 

day. 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou 
pursue 
Thy solitary way 'i 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee 

wrong. 
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide. 
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean side ? 

There is a power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast* — 
The desert and illimitable air, — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned. 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and 

rest. 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall 
bend, 
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on m\ 

heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart • 

He who, from zone to zone, ll 

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain 

flight, 

In the long way that I must tread alone, 
Will lead my steps aright. 

William Citllkn Bryant 



SUMMER. 



57 



THE VOICE OF THE GRASS. 

FTeek I come creeping, creeping every where ; 

By the dusty roadside, 

On the sunny hill-side, 

Close by the noisy brook, 

In every shady nook, 
I come creeping, creeping every where. 

Here I come creeping, smiling every where ; 

All round the open door. 

Where sit the aged poor ; 

Here where the children play, 

In the bright and merry May, 
I come creeping, creeping every where. 

Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 

In the noisy city street 

My pleasant face you '11 meet. 

Cheering the sick at heart 

Toiling his busy part — 
Silently creeping, creeping every where. 

Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 
You cannot see me coming, 
^NTor hear my low sweet humming ; 
For in the starry night, 
And the glad morning light, 

I come quietly creeping every where. 

Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 
More welcome than the flowers 
In Summer's pleasant hours ; 
The gentle cow is glad, 
And the merry bird not sad. 

To see in^ creeping, creeping every where. 

Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 
When you 're numbered with the dead 
In your still and narrow bed. 
In the happy Spring I '11 come 
And deck your silent home — 

Creeping, silently creeping every where. 

Hero I come creeping, creeping every where ; 

My humble song of praise 

Most joyfully I raise 

To Him at whose command 

I beautify the land, 
Creeping, silently creeping every where. 

Saeau Roberts. 



JULY. 

Loud is the Summer's busy song, 

The smallest breeze can find a tongue, 

^hile insects of each tiny size 

Grow teasing with their melodies, 

Till noon burns with its blistering breath 

Around, and day lies still as death. 

The busy noise of man and brute 
Is on a sudden lost and mute ; 
Even the brook that leaps along. 
Seems weary of its bubbling song, 
And, so soft its waters creep. 
Tired silence sinks in sounder sleep ; 

The cricket on its bank is dumb ; 
The very flies forget to hum ; 
And, save the wagon rocking round. 
The landscape sleeps without a sound. 
The breeze is stopped, the lazy bough 
Hath not a leaf that danceth now ; 

The taller grass upon the hill. 

And spider's threads, are standing still ; 

The feathers, dropped from moorhen's wing 

Which to the water's surface cling. 

Are steadfast, and as heavy seem 

As stones beneath them in the stream ; 

Hawkweed and groundsel's fanny downs 

Unrufiled keep their seedy crowns ; 

And in the over-heated air 

])Tot one light thing is floating there, 

Save that to the earnest eye 

The restless heat seems twittering by. 

Noon swoons beneath the heat it made, 
And flowers e'en v/ithin the shade ; 
Until the sun slopes in the west. 
Like weary traveller, glad to rest 
On pillowed clouds of many hues. 
Then N^ature's voice its joy renews, 

And checkered field and grassy plain 
Hum with their summer songs again, 
A requiem to the day's decline, 
AVhose setting sunbeams coolly shino 
As welcome to day's feeble powers 
As falling dews io thirsty flowers. 

John Clau^ 



58 



POEMS OF NATUKE. 



V 



SOiTG. 



Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me. 
And tune his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
Here shall he see 
"Eo enemy 
But Winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition shun 
And loves to live i' the sun. 
Seeking the food he eats. 
And pleased with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
Here shall he see 
'Ro enemy 
But Winter and rough weather. 

SHAKESi'EARE 



THE GREENWOOD. 

(')li! when 'tis summer weather. 
And the yellow bee, with fairy sound, 
The waters clear is humming round, 
And the cuckoo sings unseen. 
And the leaves are Avaving green — 

Oh ! then 't is sweet. 

In some retreat, 
To hear the murmuring dove. 
With those whom on eartli alone we love. 
And to wind through the greenwood together. 

Rut when 'tis winter weather, 

And crosses grieve, 

And friends deceive. 

And rain and sleet 

The lattice beat, — 

Oh! then 'tis sweet 

To sit and sing 
Ot the friends with whom, in the days of 

Spring, 
We roamed through tlie greenwood together. 
William Lisle JSowles. 



COME TO THESE SCEI^ES OF PEACE 

Come to these scenes of peace. 
Where, to rivers murmuring. 
The sweet birds all the Summer sing. 
Where cares, and toil, and sadness cease \ 
Stranger, does thy heart deplore 
Friends whom thou wilt see no more ? 
Does thy wounded spirit prove 
Pangs of hopeless, severed love ? 
Thee, the stream that gushes clear- 
Thee, the birds that carol near 
Shall soothe, as silent thou dost lie 
And dream of their w^ild lullaby ; 
Come to bless these scenes of peace, 
Where cares, and toll, and sadness cease. 
William Lisle BowLse. 



THE GAPvDEN. 

How vainly men themselves amaze, 
To win the palm, the oak, or bays : 
And their incessant labors see 
Crowned from some single herb, or tree, 
Wliose short and narrow- verged shade 
Does prudently their toils upbraid ; 
While all the flowers, and trees, do close, 
To weave the garlands of repose. 

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here. 
And Innocence, thy sister dear ? 
Mistaken long, I sought you then 
In busy companies of men. 
Your sacred plants, if here below. 
Only among the plants will grow 
Society is all but rude 
To this delicious solitude. 

N"o white nor red was ever seen 

So amorous as this lovely green. 

Fond lovers, cruel as their flame. 

Cut in these trees their mistress' namu 

Little, alas ! they know or heed. 

How far these beauties her exceed ! 

Fair trees ! where'er your barks I wound, 

No name shall but your own be found. 



When we have run our passion's heat, 
Love hither makes his best retreat. 



^ 



THE GARDEN. 



59 



The gods, who mortal beauty chase, 
Still in a tree did end their race. 
Apollo hunted Daphne so, 
Only that she might laurel grow : 

»And Pan did after Syrinx speed, 
Not as a nymph, but for a reed. 

What wondrous life in this 1 lead ! 
Ripe apples drop about my head ; 
The luscious clusters of the vine 
Upon my mouth do crush their wine ; 
The nectarine, and curious peach, 
Into my hands themselves do reach ; 
Stumbling on melons, as I pass, 
Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 

Meanwhile the mind from jjleasure less 

Withdraws into its happiness. 

The mind, that ocean where each kind 

Does straight its own resemblance find ; 

Yet it creates, transcending these, 

Far other worlds and other seas ; 

Annihilating all that 's made 

To a green thought in a green shade. 

Flere at the fountain's sliding foot, 
l>r at some fruit-tree's mossy root. 
Casting the body's vest aside, 
My soul into the boughs does glide ; 
There, like a bird, it sits and sings, 
Then whets and claps its silver wings, 
And, till prepared for longer flight, 
Waves in its plumes the various light. 

Such was the happy garden state. 
While man there walked without a mate : 
After a place so pure and sweet, 
What other help could yet be meet ! 
But 't was beyond a mortal's share 
To wander solitary there : 
Two paradises are in one, 
To live in paradise alone. 

How well the skilful gardener drew 
Of flowers, and herbs, this dial new ! 
Where, from above, the milder sun 
Does through a fragrant zodiac run . 
And, as it works, th' industrious bee 
Computes its time as well as we. 
Eow could such sweet and wholesome hours 
Be reckoned, but with herbs and flowers ? 
Andrett Maevell. 



THE GARDEN. 

Happy art thou, whom God does bless. 
With the full choice of thine own happinesa ; 

And happier yet, because thou 'rt blest 

With prudence, how to choose the best : 
In books and gardens thou hast placed aright 

(Things, which thou well dost understand; 
And both dost make with thy laborious hand) 

Thy noble, innocent delight ; 
And in thy virtuous wife, where thou again 
dost meet 

Both pleasures more refined and sweet ; 

The fairest garden in her looks. 

And in her mind the wisest books. 
Oh, who would change these soft, yet solid 
joys, 

For empty shows and senseless noise ; 

And all which rank ambition breeds, 
Which seems such beauteous flowers, and are 
such poisonous weeds ? 

When God did man to his own likeness make, 
As much as clay, though of the purest kind, 

By the great potter's art refined. 

Could the divine impression take, 
■ He thought it fit to place him, where 

A kind of Heaven too did appear. 
As far as Earth could such a likeness bear : 

That man no happiness might want. 
Which Earth to her first master could afford, 

He did a garden for him plant 
By the quick hand of his omnipotent word. 
As the chief help and joy of human life. 
He gave him the first gift ; first, even before 
a wife. 

For God, tlie universal architect 

'T had been as easy to erect 
A Louvre or Escurial, or a tower 
That might with Heaven communication hold. 
As Babel vainly thought to do of old : 

He wanted not the skill or poAver ; 

In the world's fabric those wore shown, 
And the materials were all his own. 
But w^ell he knew, what place would best 

agree 
With innocence and with felicity ; 
And we elsewhere still seek for them in vain : 
If any part of either yet remain, 



tJO 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



If anj part of either we expect, 
This may our judgment in the search direct ; 
God the first garden made, and the first city 
Cain. 

O blessed shades ! O gentle cool retreat 

Fr jm all th' immoderate heat. 
In which the frantic world does burn and 

sweat ! 
This does the Lion-star, ambition's rage ; 
This avarice, the Dog-star's thirst, assuage ; 
Every where else their fatal power we see ; 
They make and rule man's wretched destiny: 

They neither set, nor disappear. 

But tyrannize o'er all the year ; 
VThilst we ne'er feel their flame or influence 
here. 

The birds that dance from bough to bough, 

And sing above in every tree, 

Ar^ not from fears and cares more free 
Til an we, who lie, or sit, or walk, below, 

And should by right be singers too. 
What prince's choir of music can excel 

That, which within this shade does dwell ? 

To which we nothing pay or give ; 
They, like all other poets, live 
Without reward, or thanks for their obliging 
pains ; 
'T is well if they become not prey. 
Tlie whistling winds add their less artful 

strains. 
And a grave bass the murmuring fountains 

play ; 
Nature does all this liarmony bestow, 
But to our plants, art's music too. 
The pipe, theorbo, and guitar, we owe ; 
The lute itself, which once was green and 
mute, 
When Orpheus strook th' inspired lute, 
The trees danced round, and understood 
By sympathy the voice of wood. 

These are the spells, that to kind sieep invite, 
And nothing does within resistance make, 
Which yet we moderately take ; 
Who would not choose to be awake, 
Wliile he's encompast round with such de- 
light. 
To th' ear, the nose, the tuuch, the taste, and 
siffht ? 



When Yenus would her dear Ascanius keep 
A prisoner in the downy bands of sleep. 
The odorous herbs and flowers beneath hiir. 

spread. 
As the most soft and sweetest bed ; 
Not her own lap would mere have chaiT cd 

his head. 
Who, that has reason and his smell, 
Would not among roses and ja?mine dwell. 

Rather than all his spirits choke. 
With exhalations of dirt and smoke, 

And all th' uncleanness which does drown, 
In pestilential clouds, a populous town ? 
The earth itself breathes better perfumes 

here. 
Than all the female men, or women, there 
Not without cause, about them bear. 

When Epicurus to the world had taught, 

That pleasure was the chiefest good, 
(And was, perhaps, i' th' right, if rightly un- 
derstood) 

His life he to his doctrine brought, 
And in a garden's shade that sovereign plea- 
sure sought: 
Whoever a true epicure would be. 
May there find cheap and virtuous luxury, 
Yitellius's table, which did hold 
As many creatures as the ark of old ; 
That fiscal table, to which every day 
All countries did a constant tribute pay, 
Could nothing more delicious afibrd 

Than Nature's liberality. 
Helped with a little art and industry, 
Allows the meanest gardener's board. 
The wanton taste no fish or fowl can choosy 
For which the grape or melon she woald 

lose ; 
Though all th' inhabitants of sea and air 
Be listed in the glutton's bill of fare, 

Yet still the fruits of earth we see 
Placed the third story high in all her luxury. 

But with no sense the garden does comply, 
None courts, or flatters, as it does, the eye. 
When the great Hebrew king did almoi<1 

strain 
The wondrous treasures of his wealth, and 
j brain, 

I His royal southern guest to entertain : 



THE GARDEN. 



61 



Though she on silver floors did tread, 
With bright Assyrian carpets on them spread, 
To hide the metal's poverty ; 
Though she looked up to roofs of gold. 
And nought around her could behold 
But silk, and rich embroidery. 
And Babylonish tapestry, 
And wealthy Hiram's princely dye ; 
Though Ophir's starry stones met every 

where her eye ; 
Though she herself and Ler gay host were 

drest 
With all the shining glories of the East ; 
When lavish Art her costly work had done, 

The honor and the prize of bravery 
Was by the garden from the palace won 
And every rose and lily there did stand 

Better attired by Nature's hand. 
The case thus judged against the king we see. 
By one, that would not be so rich, though 
wiser far than he. 

Nor does this happy place only dispense 
Such various pleasures to the sense ; 
Here health itself does live, 

i'iiat salt of life which does to all a relish give, 

its standing pleasure and intrinsic wealth. 

The body's virtue and the soul's good-for- 
tune, health. 

The tree of life, when it in Eden stood. 

Did its immortal head to Heaven rear ; 

It lasted a tall cedar, till the flood ; 

Now a small thorny shrub it does appear ; 
Nor will it thrive too every where : 
It always here is freshest seen 
'Tis only here an evergreen. 
If, through the strong and beauteous fence 
Of temperance and innocence, 

And wholesome labors, and a quiet mind. 
Any diseases passage find. 
They must not think here to assail 

A land unarmed or without a guard ; 

Iliey must fight for it, and dispute it hard. 
Before they can prevail : 
Scarce any plant is growing here, 

Which against death some weapon does not 
bear. 
Let cities boast that they provide 
For life the ornaments of pride ; 
But 'tis the country and the field, 
That furnish it with stafi:'and slueld. 



Where does the wisdom and the power divine 
In a more bright and sweet reflection shine ? 
Where do we finer strokes and colors see 
Of the Creator's real poetry, 

Than when we with attention look 
iTpon the third day's volume of the book ? 
If we could open and intend our eye, 

We all, like Moses, should espy 
Even in a bush the radiant Deity. 
But we despise these, his inferior ways, 
(Though no less full of miracle and praise.) 

Upon the flowers of Heaven we gaze ; 
The stars of Earth no wonder in us raise ; 

Though these perhaps do, more than they 
The life of mankind sway. 
Although no part of mighty Nature be 
More stored with beauty, power and mystery; 
Yet, to encourage human industry, 
God has so ordered, that no other part 
Such space and such dominion leaves for Art, 

We nowhere Art do so triumphant see, 

As when it grafts or buds the tree. 
In other things we count it to excel. 
If it a docile scholar can appear 
To Nature, and but imitate her well ; 
It over-rules and is her master, here. 
It imitates her Maker's power divine, 
And changes her sometimes, and sometimeij 

does refine. 
It does, like grace, the fallen tree restore 
To its blest state of Paradise before. 
Who would not joy to see his conquering hand 
O'er all the vegetable world command ? 
And the wild giants of the wood receive 

What law he 's pleased to give ? 
He bids th' ill-natured crab produce 
The gentle apple's winy juice. 

The golden fruit that worthy is 

Of Galatea's purple kiss. 

He does the savage hawthorn teach 

To bear the medlar and the pear ; 

He bids the rustic plum to rear 

A noble trunk, and be a peach. 

Ev'n Daphne's coyness he does mock, 

And weds the cherry to her stock, 

Though she refused Apollo's suit ; 

Even she, that ch^aste and virgin tree, 

Now wonders at herself, to see 
That she's a m6ther made, and blushes in her 
fruit. 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Methinks I see great Dioclesian walk 
Fn the Salonian garden's noble shade, 
^^hich by his own imperial hands was made. 
[ see him smile, methinks, as he does talk 
With the ambassadors, who come in vain 

T' entice him to a throne again. 
'^ If I, mj friends," (said he,) "should to you 

show 
All the delights which in these gardens gi'ow, 
'Tis likelier, much, that you should with me 

stay, 
Than 'tis that you should carry me away ; 
And trust me not, my friends, if every day, 

I walk not here with more delight 
Than ever, after the most happy sight, 
In triumph to the Capitol I rode 
To thank the gods, and to be thought myself 

almost a god." 

Abbaham Cowley. 



INSCRIPTION IN A HERMITAGE. 

Beneath this stony roof reclined, 
I soothe to peace my pensive mind; 
And while, to shade my lowly cave. 
Embowering elms their umbrage wave : 
And while the maple dish is mine — 
The beechen cup, unstained with 'vme — 
I scorn the gay licentious crowd, 
Nor heed the toys that deck the proud. 

Within my limits, lone and still, 
The black-bird pipes in artless trill ; 
Fast by my couch, congenial guest, 
The wren has wove her mossy nest; 
From busy scenes, and brighter skies, 
To lurk with innocence, she flies, 
Here hopes in safe repose to dwell, 
Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell. 

At morn I take my customed round. 
To mark how buds yon shrubby mound. 
And every opening primrose count. 
That trimly paints my blooming mount ; 
Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude. 
That grace my gloomy solitude, 
I teach in winding wreaths' to stray 
Fantastic ivy's gadding spray. 



At eve, within yon studious nook, 

I ope my brass-embossed book, 

Portrayed with many a holy deed 

Of martyrs, crowned with heavenly meed 

Then, as my taper waxes dim, 

Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn. 

And at the close, the gleams behold 

Of parting wings, be-dropt with gold. 

While such pure joys my bliss create, 
Who but would smile at guilty state ^ 
Who but would wish his holy lot 
In calm oblivion's humble grot? 
Who but would cast his pomp away, 
ro take my staff, and amice gray ;*' 
And to the world's tumultuous stage 
Prefer ihe blameless hermitage ? 

Thomas WaktoKo 



THE RETIREMENT. 

Farewell, thou busy world, and may 
We never meet again ; 
Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray, 
And do more good in one short day, 
Than he who his whole age out-weara 
Upon the most conspicuous theatres, 
Where nought but vanity and vice appears. 

I Good God ! how sweet are all things here! 
How beautiful the fields appear ! 

How cleanly do we feed and lie ! 
Lord ! what good hours do we keep ' 
How quietly we sleep ! 

What peace, what unanimity ! 
How innocent from the lewd fashion, 
Is all our business, all our recreation ! 

Oh, how happy here 's our leisure I 
Oh, how innocent our pleasure ! 
O ye valleys ! O ye mountains ! 
ye groves, and crystal fountains t 
How I love, at liberty. 
By turns to come and visit ye ' 

Dear solitude, the soul's best friend. 
That man acquainted with himself dost make. 
And all his Maker's wonders to intend. 



THE USEFUL PLOUGH. 



a;3 



With thee I here converse at will, 
And would be glad to do so still, 
For is it thou alone that keep'st the soul 
awake. 

How calm and quiet a dehght 
Is it, alone 

To read, and meditate, and write, 

By none offended, and offending none ! 

To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own 
ease; 
And, pleasing a man's self; none other to dis- 
please. 

my beloved nyiiiiph, fair Dove, 
Princess of rivers, how I love 

Upon thy flowery banks to lie. 
And view thy silver stream, 
When gilded by a Summer's beam ! 
And in it all thy wanton fry 
Playing at liberty, 
And, with my angle, upon them. 
The all of treachery 

1 ever learned industriously to try I 

Such streams Rome's yellow Tiber cannot 

show, 
The Iberian Tagus, or Ligurian Po ; 
The Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine, 
Are puddle-water, all, compared with thine ; 
And Loire's pure streams yet too polluted are 
With thine, much purer, to compare ; 
The rapid Garonne and the winding Seine 
Are both too mean, 

Beloved Dove, with thee 

To vie priority ; 
Nay, Tame and Isis, when conjoined, submit. 
And lay their trophies at thy silver feet. 

O my beloved rocks, that rise 

lo awe the earth and brave the skies ! 

From some aspiring mountain's crown 

How dearly do I love. 
Giddy with pleasure, to look down ; 
And, from the vales, to view the noble heights 

above ; 
my beloved caves 1 from dog-star's heat, 
And all anxieties, my safe retreat ; 
What safety, privacy, what true delight, 
In the artifickil night 



Your gloomy entrails make, 

Have I taken, do I take ! 
How oft, when grief has made me fly, 
To hide me from society 
E'en of my dearest friends, have I, 

In your recesses' friendly shade, 

All my sorrows open laid. 
And my most secret woes intrusted to youi 
privacy ! 

Lord! would men let me alone, 
What an over-happy one 

Should I think myself to be — 
Might I in this desert place, 
(Which most men in discourse disgrace.) 

Live but undisturbed and free ! 
Here, in this despised recess. 

Would I, maugre Winter's cold, 
And the Summer's worst excess. 
Try to live out to sixty full years old : 
And, all the while. 

Without an envious eye 
On any thriving under Fortune's smile, 
Contented live, and then contented die. 

Ohaeles CJoTTori 



THE USEFUL PLOUGH. 

A COUNTRY life is sweet ! 
In moderate cold and heat. 

To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair I 
In every field of wheat. 

The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers, 
And every meadow's brow ; 

So that I say, no courtier may 

Compare with them who clothe in gray, 
And follow the useful plough. 

They rise with the morning lark, 
And labor till almost dark ; 

Then folding their sheep, they hasten to 
sleep ; 
While every pleasant park 
Next morning is ringing with birds that art* 
singing. 
On each green, tender bough. 

With what content and merriment 
Their days are spent, whose minds are bent 
To follow the useful plough ! 

Anonykouq. 



&i 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



KEYE DU MTDL 

"When o'er the mountain steeps, 
The hazj noontide creeps, 
And the shrill cricket sleeps 
Under the grass ; 
AThen soft the shadows lie, 
And clouds sail o'er the sky, 
And the idle winds go hy, 
With the heavy scent of blossoms as tliey 
pass — 

Then when the silent stream 
Lapses as in a dream, 
And the water-lilies gleam 
Up to the sun ; 

When the hot and burdened day 
Rests on its downward way, 
Wlien the moth forgets to play 
And the plodding ant may dream her work is 
done — 

Then, from the noise of war 
And the din of earth afar. 
Like some forgotten star 
Dropt from the sky — 
The sounds of love and fear. 
All voices sad and clear, 
Banished to silence drear — 
The willing thrall of trances sweet I lie. 

Some melancholy gale 
Breathes its mysterious tale, 
Till the rose's lips grow pale 
With her sighs ; 
And o'er my thoughts are cast 
Tints of the vanished past, 
Glories that faded fast, 
Renewed to splendor in my dreaming eyes. 

As poised on vibrant Avings, 
Where its sweet treasure swings, 
The honey-lover clings 
To the red flowers — 
So, lost in vivid light, 
So, rapt from day and night, 
I hnger in delight, 
Enraptured o'er the vision-freighted hours. 

Boss Tesbt. 



HYMN TO PAN. 

THOU, whose mighty palace roof doth han^j 
From jagged trunks, and overshadowcth 
Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death 
Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness ; 
Who lovest to see the Hamadryads dress 
Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels 

darken ; 
And through whole solemn hours dost sit 

and hearken 
The dreary melody of bedded reeds 
In desolate places, where danli moisture 

breeds 
The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth, 
Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth 
Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx — do thou now, 
By thy love's milky brow ! 
By all the trembling mazes that she ran. 
Hear us, great Pan ! 

thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles 
Passion their voices cooingly 'mong myrtles, 
What time thou wanderest at eventide 
Through sunny meadows, that outskii-t tho 

side 
Of thine enmossed realms! thou, to whom 
Broad-leaved tig-trees even now foredoom 
Their ripened fruitage ; yellow-girted bees il 
Their golden honeycombs ; our village leas || 
Their fairest blossomed beans and poppied 

corn; 
The chuckling linnet its five young unborn, 
To sing for thee ; low-creeping strawberries 
Their summer coolness ; pent-up butterflies 
Their freckled wings ; yea, the fresh-budding 

year 
All its completions — ^be quickly near. 
By every wind that nods the mountain pine, 
forester divine ! 

Thou, to whom every faun and satyr flies 
For willing service ; whether to surprise 
The squatted hare while in half-sleeping fit ; 
Or upward ragged precipices flit 
To save poor lambkins from the eagles maw ; 
Or by mysterious enticement draw 
Bewildered shepherds to their path again ; 
Or to tread breathless round the frothy main, 
And gather up all fancifullest shells 
For thee to tumble into Naiads' cells, 



THE BIRCH-TREE. 



66 



And, being hidden, laugh at their out-peeping ; 
Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping. 
The while they pelt each other on the crown 
With silvery oak-apples, and fir-cones brown ! 
By all the echoes that about thee ring. 
Hear us, O satyr king ! 

O Hearkener to the loud-clappping shears, 
While ever and anon to his shorn peers 
A ram goes bleating ! Winder of the horn, 
When snouted wild-boars, routing tender corn. 
Anger our huntsmen! Breather round our 

farms, 
To keep off mildews, and all weather harms ! 
Strange ministrant of undescribed sounds, 
That come a-swooning over hollow grounds. 
And wither drearily on barren moors! 
Dread opener of the mysterious doors 
Leading to universal knowledge — see. 
Great son of Dryope, 

The many that are come to pay their vows 
With leaves about their brows ! 

Be still the unimaginable lodge 
For solitary thinkings —such as dodge 
Conception to the very bourne of heaven, 
Then leave the naked brain ; be still the leaven 
That, spreading in this dull and clodded earth. 
Gives it a touch ethereal — a new birth ; 
Be still a symbol of immensity ; 
A firmament reflected in a sea ; 
An element Ming the space between ; 
An unknown — ^but no more: we humbly 

screen 
With uplift hands our foreheads, lowly bend- 
ing, 
And, giving out a shout most heaven-rending, 
Conjure thee to receive our humble psean, 
Upon thy Mount Lycean ! 

John Kbats. 



TO FAN. 

All ye woods, and trees, and bowers. 
All ye virtues and ye powers 
That inhabit in the lakes, 
hi the pleasant springs or brakes. 
Move your feet 

To our sound, 
Whilst we greet 
Ail this ground, 
13 



With his honor and his name 
That defends our flocks from blame. 

He is great, and he is just. 
He is ever good, and must 
Thus be honored. Daflbdillies, 
Eoses, pinks, and loved lilies. 
Let us fling. 

Whilst we sing, 
Ever holy. 
Ever holy. 
Ever honored, ever young ! 
Thus great Pan is ever sung. 

Beaumont and Fletoujih. 



THE BIRCH-TREE. 

RippLiNa through thy branches goes the sun- 
shine. 
Among thy leaves that palpitate for ever ; 
Ovid in thee a pining ITymph had prisoned. 
The soul once of some tremulous inland river, 
Quivering to tell her woe, but, ah! dumb, 
dumb for ever ! 

While all the forest, witched with slumber- 
ous moonshine. 
Holds up its leaves in happy, happy silence, 
Waiting the dew, with breath and pulse sus- 
pended, — 
I hear afar thy whispering, gleaming islands, 
And track thee wakeful still amid the wido- 
hung silence. 

Upon the brink of some wood-nestled lakelet, 
Thy foliage, like the tresses of a Dryad, 
Dripping about thy slim white sttjm, whoso 

shadow 
Slopes quivering down the water's dusky 

quiet^ 
Thou shrmk'st as on her bath's edge would 

some startled Dryad. 

Thou art the go-between of rustic lovers ; 

Tliy white bark has their secrets in its keep- 
ing; 

Reuben writes here the happy name of Pa- 
tience, 

And thy lithe boughs hang murmuring and 
weeping ^ 



o(J 



POEMS OF NATURE 



A.bove lier, as she steals the mystery from thy 
keeping. 

Thou art to me like my beloved maiden, 

So frankly coy, so full of trembly confidences ; 

Thy shadow scarce seems shade ; thy patter- 
ing leaflets 

Sprinkle their gathered sunshine o'er my 
senses, 

And Nature gives me all her summer confi- 
dences. 

Whether my heart with hope or sorrow trem- 

bl(3, 

riiou sympathizest still ; wild and unquiet, 

[ fling me down, thy ripple, like a river. 

Flows valleyward where calmness is, and 

by it 

My heart is floated down into the land of 

quiet. 

James Eussell Lowell. 



SONG OF WOOD-NYMPHS. 

Come here, come here, and dwell 

In forest deep ! 

Come here, come here, and tell 

Why thou dost weep ! 

Is it for love (sweet pain !) 

That thus thou dar'st complain 

Unto our pleasant shades, our summer leaves, 

Where nought else grieves ? 

Come here, come here, and he 

Dy whispering stream ! 

Here no one dares to die 

For love's sweet dream ; 

But health all seek, and joy, 

And shun perverse annoy, 

And race along green paths till close of day, 

And laugh — alway ! 

Or else, through half the year, 
On rushy floor. 
We lie by waters clear, 
While sky-larks pour 
Tlieir songs into the sun! 
And when bright day is done, 
We hide 'neatli bells of flowers or nodding 
coi*n 

And dream — till morn! 

Barry Cornwall. 



SUMMER WOODS. 

Come ye into the summer woods; 

There entereth no annoy ; 
All greenly wave the chestnut leaves, 

And the earth is full of joy. 

I cannot tell you half the sights 

Of beauty you may see. 
The bursts of golden sunshine. 

And many a shady tree. 

There, lightly swun^, a bowery glades. 

The honey-suckles twine ; 
There blooms the rose-red campion, 

And the dark-blue columbine. 

There grows the four-leaved plant, "tra< 
love," 

In some dusk woodland spot ; 
There grows the enchanter's night-shado, 

And the wood forget-me-not. 

And many a merry bird is there, 

Unscared by lawless men ; 
The blue- winged jay, the woodpecker. 

And the golden-crested wren. 

Come down, and ye shall see them all, 

The timid and the bold ; 
For their sweet life of pleasantness, 

It is not to be told. 

And far within that summer wood, 

Among the leaves so green. 
There flows a little gurgling brook. 

The brightest e'er was seen. 

There come the little gentle birds, 

Without a fear of ill ; 
Down to the murmuring w^ater's edge 

And freely drink their fill ! 

And dash about and splash about, 

The merry little things ; 
And look askance with bright black eyes 

And flirt their drippinc; wings. 

I 've seen the freakish squirrel droj) 

Down from their leafy tree. 
The little squirrels with the old,— 

Great joy it was to me ! 



^ 



THE BELFRY PIGEON. 



07 



And down unto the running brook, 

I 've seen tliem nimbly go ; 
And the bright water seemed to speak 

A welcome kind and low, 

The nodding plants they bowed their heads 

As if in heartsome cheer ; 
riiey spake unto these little things, 

" T is merry living here ! " 

Oh, how my heart ran o'er with joy ! 

I saw that all was good, 
And how we might glean up delight 

All round us, if we would ! 

And many a wood-mouse dwelleth there. 

Beneath the old wood shade, 
And all day long has work to do, 

]^or is of aught afraid. 

The green shoots grow above their heads, 

And roots so fresh and fine 
Beneath their feet ; nor is there strife 

'Mong them for mine and thine. 

Tliere is enough for every one. 

And they lovingly agree ; 
VTe might learn a lesson, all of us. 

Beneath the green-wood tree. 

Mart Howttt. 



WILLOW SO^G. 

Willow ! in thy breezy moan 
I can hear a deeper tone ; 
Through thy leaves come whispering low- 
Faint sweet sounds of long ago — 

Willow, sighing willow ! 

Many a mournful tale of old 
Heart-sick Love to tliee hath told. 
Gathering from thy golden bough 
Leaves to cool his burning brow — 

Willow, sigliing willow I 

Many a swan-like song to tliee 
Hath been sung, thou gentle tree ; 
Many a lute its last lament 
Down thy moonlight stream hath s^nt— 
Willow, sigliing willow ! 



Therefore, wave and murmur on, 

Sigh for sweet affections gone. 

And for tuneful voices fled. 

And for Love, whose heart hatli bled — 

Ever, willow, willow! 

Felicia Dorothea HEM^Nii 



THE BELFRY PIGEON. 

On the cross-beam under thy Old South bell 
The nest of a pigeon is builded well. 
In summer and winter tliat bird is there, 
Out and in with the morning air ; 
I love to see him track the street. 
With his wary eye and active feet ; 
And I often watch him as he springs. 
Circling the steeple with easy wings, 
Till across the dial his shade has passed, 
And the belfry edge is gained at last ; 
T is a bird I love, with its brooding note, 
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat ; 
There 's a human look in its swelling breast. 
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest ; 
And I often stop with the fear I feel — 
He runs so close to the rapid wheel. 

Whatever is rung on that noisy bell — 
Chime of the hour, or funeral knell — 
The dove in the belfry must hear it well. 
When the tongue swings out to the midnight 

moon, 
When the sexton cheerly rings for noon, 
When the clock strikes clear at morning 

light, 
When the child is waked with " nine at 

night,'' 
When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air. 
Filling the spirit with tones of prayer, — 
Whatever tale in the bell is heard. 
He broods on his folded feet unstirred. 
Or, rising half in his rounded nest, 
He takes the time to smooth his breast. 
Then drops again, with filmed eyes. 
And sleeps as the last \ibration dies. 

Sweet bird ! I would that I could be 
A hermit in the crowd like thee ! 
With wings to fly to wood and glen, 
Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men; 
xVnd daily, with unwilling feet, 
I tread, like thee, the crowded street, 
But^ unlike me, when day is o'er, 



58 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



riiou canst dismiss the world, and soar ; 
Or, at a half-felt wish for rest, 
Oanst smooth the feathers on thy breast, 
And drop, forgetful, to thy nest. 

I would that, in such wings of gold, 
I could my weary heart upfold ; 
I would I could look down unmoved 
(Unloving as I am unloved). 
And while the world throngs on beneath. 
Smooth down my cares and calmly breathe ; 
And never sad with others' sadness. 
And never glad with others' gladness, 
listen, unstirred, to knell or chime. 
And, lapped in quiet, bide my time. 

Nathaniel Pabkee Willis. 



THE GRASSHOPPER. 

TO MY NOBLE FEIEND ME. CHAELES COTTON, 
ODE. 

THOU, that swing'st upon the waving ear 
Of some well-filled oaten beard. 

Drunk every night with a delicious tear 
Dropped thee from heaven, where now 
thou 'rt reared ; 

The joys of air and earth are thine entire, 
. That with thy feet and wings dost hop and 

fly; 

And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire 
To thy carved acorn-bed to lie. 

Up with the day, the sun thou welcom'st then ; 

Sport'st in the gilt plats of his beams, 
And all these merry days mak'st merry men, 

Thyself, and melancholy streams. 

But ah ! the sickle ! golden ears are cropt ; 

Ceres and Bacchus bid good-night ; 
Sharp frosty fingers all your flowers have topt, 

And what scythes spared, winds shave oflf 
quite. 

Poor verdant fool ! and now green ice, thy 
joys 

Large aud as lasting as thy perch of grass. 
Bid us lay in 'gainst winter ram, and poise 

Their floods with an o'erflowing glass. 

Thou best of men and friends! we will create 
A genuine summer in each other's breast; 



And spite of this cold time and frozen fate, 
Thaw us a warm seat to our rest. 

Our sacred hearths shall burn eternally 
As vestal flames ; the north wind, he 

Shall strike his frost- stretched wings, dissolve 
and fly 
This ^tna in epitome. 

Dropping December shall come weeping in, 
Bewail th' usurping of his reign ; 

But when in showers of old Greek we begin, 
Shall cry he hath his crown again. 

Night as clear Hesper shall our tapers whip 
From the light casements where we play, 

And the dark hag from her black mantle strip 
And stick there everlasting day. 

Thus richer than untempted kings are we. 
That asking nothing, nothing need ; 

Though lord of all what seas embrace, yet be 
That wants himself, is poor indeed. 

RlCHAED LOVT.lAdli 



THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy insect, what can be 

In happiness compared to thee ? 

Fed with nourishment divine. 

The dewy morning's gentle T\dne ! 

Nature waits upon thee still. 

And thy verdant cup does fill ; 

'T is filled wherever thou dost tread, 

Nature self 's thy Ganymede. 

Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing, 

Happier than the happiest king ! 

All the fields which thou dost see, 

All the plants belong to thee ; 

All the summer hours produce, 

Fertile made with early juice. 

Man for thee does sow and plow. 

Farmer he, and landlord thou ! 

Thou dost innocently enjoy ; 

Nor does thy luxury destroy. 

The shepherd gladly heareth thee. 

More harmonious than he. 

Thee country hinds with gladness lieai\ 

Prophet of the ripened year ! 

Tliee Phoebus loves, and does inspire , 

Phoebus is himself thy sire. 



SUMMER. 



69 



To thee, of all things upon earth, 

Life is no longer than thy mirth. 

Happy insect I happy thou, 

Dost neither age nor winter know ; 

But when thou 'st drunk, and danced, and 

sung 
Tliy fill, the flowery leaves among, 
^Voluptuous and wise withal. 
Epicurean animal !) 
Sated with thy summer feast, 
Thou retir'st to endlest rest. 

Anaoeeon. (Greek.) 
-"rauslatlon of Abraham Cowley. 



A SOLILOQUY. 

OOOASIONED BY THE CHIEPING OF A 
OEASSnOPPER. 

Happy insect ! ever blest 
With a more than mortal rest, 
Rosy dews the leaves among, 
Humble joys, and gentle song ! 
"Wretched poet ! ever curst 
With a life of lives the worst. 
Sad despondence, restless fears. 
Endless jealousies and tears. 

In the burning summer thou 
Warblest on the verdant bough, 
Meditating cheerful play, 
Mindless of the piercing ray ; 
Scorched in Cupid's fervors, I 
Ever weep and ever die. 

Proud to gratify thy will, 
Ready !N"ature waits thee still ; 
Balmy wines to thee she pours. 
Weeping through the dewy flowers. 
Rich as those by Hebe given 
To the thirsty sons of heaven. 

Yet alas, we both agree. 
Miserable thou like me ! 
Each, alike, in youtli rehearses 
Gentle strains and tender verses ; 
Ever wandering far from liome. 
Mindless of the days to come 
(Such as aged Winter brings 
Trembling on his icy wings). 
Both alike at last we die ; 
Tiiou art starved, and so am I ! 

Walter Harte. 



ON THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy songster, perched above, 
On the summit of the grove, 

- Whom a dewdrop cheers to sing 
With the freedom of a king ; 
From thy perch survey the fields, 
Where prolific Nature yields 
Nought that, willingly as she, 
Man surrenders not to thee. 
For hostihty or hate 
None thy pleasures can create. 
Thee it satisfies to sing 
Sweetly the return of Spring ; 
Herald of the genial hours, 
Harming neither herbs nor flowci'S, 
Therefore man thy voice attends 
Gladly — thou and he are friends; 
Nor thy never-ceasing strains 
Phoebus or the Muse disdains 
As too simple or too long. 
For themselves inspire the song. 
Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying, 
Ever singing, sporting, playing. 
What has nature else to show 
Godlike in its kind as thou? 

Anaoeeon. (Greek.) 

Translation of William Cowpeb. 



ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND 
CRICKET. 

The poetry of earth is never dead : 
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun 
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run 
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown 

mead. 
That is the grasshopper's — ^lie takes the lead 
In summer luxury, — ^he has never done 
With his dehghts ; for, when tired out with 

fun, 
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. 
The poetry of earth is ceasing never. 
On a lone winter evening, when the frost 
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there 

shrills 
The Cricket's song, in warmth mcreasing ever, 
And seems, to one in drowsiness half lost. 
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills. 

John Krat^ 



70 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. 

GrREEN little v.aiilter m the sunny grass, 
Catching your heart up at the feel of June- 
Sole voice that 's heard amidst the lazy noon 
When even the bees lag at the summoning 

brass ; 
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class 
With those who think the candles come too 

soon, 
Loving the fire, and with your tricksomc tune 
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass ! 

sweet and tiny cousins, that belong. 
One to the fields, the other to the hearth. 
Both have your sunshine: both, though small, 

are strong 
At your clear hearts; and both seem given 

to earth 
To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song — 
[n doors and out, summer and \vinter, mirth. 

Leigh Hunt. 



TO THE HUMBLE-BEE. 

Bduly, dozing humble-bee! 
Where thou art is clime for me ; 
Let them sail for Porto Rique, 
Far-off heats through seas to seek. — 
I will follow thee alone. 
Thou animated torrid zone ! 
Zig-zag steerer, desert cheerer. 
Let me chase thy waving lines ; 
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, 
Singing over shrubs and vines. 

Insect lover of the sun, 
Joy of thy dominion ! 
Sailor of the atmosphere ; 
Swimmer through the waves of air. 
Voyager of light and noon, 
Epicurean of June ! 
Wait, I prithee, till I come 
Within earshot of thy hum, — 
All without is martyrdom. 

When the south wind, in May days, 
With a net of shining haze 
Silvers the horizon wall ; 
And, with softness touching all, 



Tints the human countenance 
With the color of romance ; 
And infusing subtle heats 
Turns the sod to violets, — 
Thou in sunny solitudes, 
Rover of the underwoods. 
The green silence dost displace 
With thy mellow breezy bass. 

Hot Midsummer's petted crone. 
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone 
TeUs of countless sunny hours. 
Long days, and solid banks of flowers ; 
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound, 
In Indian wildernesses found ; 
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, 
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. 

Aught unsavory or unclean 
Hath my insect never seen ; 
But violets, and bilberry bells, 
Maple sap, and daffodels. 
Grass with green flag half-mast higli, 
Succory to match the sky, ^^ 

Columbine with horn of honey, 
Scented fern, and agrimony. 
Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue, 
And brier-roses, dwelt among : 
All beside was unknown waste. 
All was picture as he passed. 
Wiser far than human seer, 
YeUow-breeched philosopher. 
Seeing only what is fair. 

Sipping only what is sweet, 
Thou dost mock at fate and care. 

Leave the chafl* and take the wheat. 
When the fierce north-western blast 
Cools sea and land so far and fast, — 
Thou already slumberest deep ; 
Woe and want thou canst outsleep ; 
Want and woe, which torture us. 
Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 

Ralph Waldo EMi:«ai:>2f. 



THE BEE. 

From fruitful beds and flowery borders. 
Parcelled to wasteful ranks and orders. 
Where state grasps more than plain truth necde 
And vvholesome uerbs are starved by weeds. 



THE BEE. 



71 



To the wild woods I will be gone, 

And the coarse meals of great Saint John. 

When truth and piety are missed, 

Both in the rulers and tlie priest ; 

When pity is not cold but dead, 

And the rich eat the poor like bread ; 

While factious heads, with open coile 

And force, first make, then share the spoile ; 

To Horeb then Elias goes, 

And in the desert grows the rose. 

Haile, chrystal fountaines and fresh shades, 
Where no proud look invades, 
No busie worldling hunts away 
The sad retirer all the day ! 
Haile, happy, harmless solitude ! 
Our sanctuary from the rude 
And scornful world ; the calm recess 
Of faith, and hope, and holiness ! 
Here something still like Eden looks ; 
Honey in woods, juleps in brooks ; 
And flowers, whose rich, unrifled sweets 
With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets, 
Wlien the toils of the day are done. 
And the tired world sets with the sun. 
Rere flying winds and flowing wells 
Ai*e the wise, watchful hermit's bell? 
Their busie murmurs all the night 
To praise or prayer do invite ; 
And with an awful sound arrest, 
And piously employ his breast. 

When m the East the dawn doth blush. 

Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush. 

Herbs straight get up; flowers peep and 

spread ; 
Trees whisper praise, and bow the head ; 
Birds, from the shades of night released. 
Look round about, then quit the nest. 
And with united gladness sing 
The glory of the morning's King. 
The hermit hears, and with meek voice 
Offers his own up, and their, joyes; 
Then prays that all the world might be 
Blest with as sweet an unity. 

If sudden storms the day invade, 
They flock about him to tlie shade. 
Where wisely they expect the end. 
Giving the tempest time to spend ; 



And hard by shelters on some bough 
Hilarion's servant, the sage crow. 

Oh, purer years of light and grace ! 
Great is the difibrence, as the space, 
'Twixt you and us, who blindly run 
After false fires, and leave the sun. 
Is not fair nature of herself 
Much richer than dull paint and pelf? 
And are not streams at the spring head 
More sweet than in carved stone or lead ? 
But fancy and some artist's tools 
Frame a religion for fools. 

The truth, which once was plainly taught, 
With thorns and briars now is fraught. 
Some part is with bold fable spotted. 
Some by strange comments wildly blotted ; 
And discord, old corruption's crest. 
With blood and shame have stained the rest. 
So snow, which in its first descents 
A whiteness like pure heaven presents, 
When touched by man is quickly soiled, 
And after trodden down and spoiled. 

Oh, lead me where I may be free. 
In truth and spirit to serve Thee ! 
Where undisturbed I may converse 
With Thy great Self; and there rehearse 
Thy gifts with thanks ; and from Thy storej 
Who art all blessings, beg much more. 
Give me the wisdom of the bee, 
And her unwearied Industrie ! 
That, from the wild gourds of these days, 
I may extract health, and Thy praise. 
Who canst turn darkness into light. 
And in my weakness shew Thy might. 

Suffer me not in any want 
To seek refreshment from a phmt 
Thou didst not set ; since all must be 
Plucked up, whose growth is not from Thee 
'T is not the garden and tlie bowers, 
Nor sense and forms, that give to flowers 
Their wholesomeness ; but Thy good will, 
Which truth and pureness purchase stiU. 

Then since corrupt man hath driven Iieno*.^ 
Thy kind and saving influence, 
And balm is no more to be had 
In all the coasts of Gilcad ; 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Gro with me to the shade and cell, 

Where Thy best servants once did dwell. 

There let me know Thy will, and see 

Exiled religion owned by Thee ; 

For Thon canst turn dark grots to halls, 

And make hills blossome like the vales, 

Decking their untilled heads with flowers, 

And fresL delights for all sad hours ; 

Till from them, like a laden bee, 

I may fly home, and hive with Thee. 

Hensy Vattghan. 



THE FLY. 

oooasio:jted by a fly drixkixo out of the 
author's cup. 

Busy, curious, thirsty fly ! 
Drink with me, and drink as I ! 
Freely welcome to my cup, 
Couldst thou sip and sip it up : 
Make the most of life you may ; 
Life is short and wears away ! 

Both alike, both mine and thine. 
Hasten quick to their decline ! 
Thine 's a summer ; mine no more, 
Though repeated to threescore ! 
Threescore summers, when they 're gone. 
Will appear as short as one ! 

YlNCE^NT BOUKNE. 



THE SPICE-TREE. 

The Spice-Tree lives in the garden green ; 
Beside it the fountain flows ; 
And a fair bird sits the boughs between. 
And sings his melodious woes. 

No gi-ecncr garden e'er was known 
Within the bounds of an earthly king ; 
N'o lovelier skies have ever shone 
Than those that illumine its constant Spring. 

That coil-bound stem has branches three ; 
On each a thousand blossoms grow ; 
And, old as aught of time can be, 
Tlio root stands fast in the rocks below. 

In the spicy shade ne'er seems to tire 
riie fount that builds a silvery dome ; 
Ajid flakes of purple and ruby fire 
aush out, and sparkle amid the foam. 



The fair white bird of flaming crest, 
And azure wings bedropt with gold, 
Ne'er has he known a pause of rest, 
But sings the lament that he framed of old : 

" Princess bright! how long the night 
Since thou art sunk in the waters clear ! 
How sadly they flow from the depth below - 
How long must I sing and thou wilt not 
hear? 

" The waters play, and the flowers are gay. 
And the skies are sunny above ; 
I would that all could fade and fall, 
And I, too, cease to mourn my love. 

" Oh ! many a year, so wakeful and drear, 
I have sorrowed and watched, beloved, for 

thee ! 
But there comes no breath from the charatery 

of death, 
While the lifeless fount gushes under the tree." 

The skies grow dark, and they glare vilh 

red; 
The tree shakes off its spicy bloom ; 
The waves of the fount in a black pool spread; 
And in thunder sounds the garden's doom. 

Down springs the bird with a long shrill cry, 

Into the sable and angry flood ; 

And the face of the pool, as he falls from 

high, 
Curdles in circling stains of blood. 

But sudden again upswells the fount ; 
Higher and higher the waters flow — 
In a glittering diamond arch they mount, 
And round it the colors of morning glow. 

Finer and flner the watery momid 
Softens and melts to a thin-spun veil, 
And tones of music circle around. 
And bear to the stars the fountain's tale. 

And swift the eddying rainbow screen 
Falls in dew on the grassy floor; 
Under the Spice-Tree the garden's Queen 
Sits by her lover, who wails no more. 

John Stbbliko 






THE PALM. 



76 



THE ARAB TO THE PALM. 

N'ext to thee, O fair gazelle, 

Boddowee girl, beloved so well ; 

N'ext to the fearless Nedjidee, 

Whose fleetness shall bear me again to thee ; 

Next to jQ both, I love the Palm, 

With his leaves of beauty, his fruit of balm ; 

Next to ye both, I love the tree 

Whose fluttering shadow wraps us three 

With love, and silence, and mystery ! 

Our tribe is many, our poets vie 

With any under the Arab sky ; 

Yet none can sing of the Palm but L 

Tlie marble minarets that begem 

Cairo's citadel-diadem 

Are not so light as his slender stem. 

He lifts his leaves in the sunbeam's glance, 
Ao the Almehs lift their arms in dance — 

^A c^iumberous motion, a passionate sign, 
iliat works in the cells of the blood like wine. 

L ull of passion and sorrow is he, 
Dreaming where the beloved may be. 

And when the warm south winds arise. 
He breathes his longing in fervid sighs, 

Quickening odors, kisses of balm. 

That drop in the lap of his chosen palm. 

The sun may flame, and the sands may stir. 
But the breath of his passion reaches her. 

Tree of Love, by that love of thine. 
Teach me how I shall soften mine ! 

Give me the secret of the sun, 
Whereby the wooed is ever won ! 

If I were a king, stately Tree, 
A. likeness, glorious as might be, 
In the court of my palace I 'd build for thee 

With a shaft of silver, burnished bright. 
And leaves of beryl and malachite ; 



With spikes of golden bloom a-blaze, 
And fruits of topaz and chrysoprase. 

And there the poets, in thy praise. 

Should night and morning frame new laye— 

New measures sung to tunes divine ; 
But none, Palm, should equal mine ! 

Bayard Taylob. 



THE TIGER. 

Tiger ! Tiger ! burning bright. 
In the forest of the night ; 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

In what distant deeps or skies 
Burned the ardor of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire ? 
What the hand dare seize the fire ? 

And what shoulder, and what art, 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand forged thy dread feot ? 

What the hammer? what the chmn ? 
In what furnace was thy brain? 
What the anvil ! What dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp ? 

When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears, 
Did he smile his work to see ? 
Did He who made the lamb make thee ? 

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright, 
In the forest of the night ; 
WTiat immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? 

William Blakb. 



THE LION'S RIDE. 

The lion is the desert's king; through hifl 

domain so wide 
Right swiftly and right royally this night he 

means to ride. 
By the sedgy brink, where the wild herde 

drink, close couches the grim chief; 
The trembling sycamore above whispers with 

every leaf. 



r4 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



At evening, on the Table Mount, when ye 

can see no more 
The changeful play ot signals gay ; when the 

gloom is speckled o'er 
With kraal fires; when the Caffre wends 

home through the lone karroo; 
When the boshbok in the thicket sleeps, and 

by the stream the gnu ; 

Then bend your gaze across the waste — what 
see ye ? The giraffe, 

Majestic, stalks towards the lagoon, the tur- 
bid lymph to quaff; 

With outstretched neck and tongue adust, he 
kneels him down to cool 

His hot thirst with a welcome draught from 
the foul and brackish pool. 

A. rusthng sound — a roar— a bound — the Hon 

sits astride 
Upon his giant courser's back. Did ever king 

so ride ? 
Had ever king a steed so rare, caparisons of 

state 
To match the dappled skin whereon that 

rider sits elate ? 

In the muscles of the neck his teeth are 
plimged with ravenous greed ; 

His tawny mane is tossing round the withers 
of the steed. 

Up leaping with a hollow yell of anguish and 
surprise. 

Away, away, in wild dismay, the camel-leop- 
ard flies. 

His feet have wings; see how he springs 

across the moonlit plain ! 
As from their sockets they would bui'st, his 

glaring eyeballs strain ; 
[n thick black streams of purling blood, full 

fast his life is fleeting ; 
T]\Q stillness of the desert hears his heart's 

tumultuous beating. 

Like the cloud that, through the wilderness, 

the path of Israel traced — 
Like an airy pliantom, dull and wan, a spirit 

of the waste — 



From the sandy sea uprising, as the water- 
spout from ocean, 

A whh'ling cloud of dust keeps pace with the 
com^ser's fiery motion. 

Croaking companion of their flight, tLo vul- 
ture whirs on high ; 

Below, the terror of the fold, the pant!>c: 
tierce and sly, 

And hyenas foul, round graves that prowl, 
join in the horrid race ; 

By the foot-prints wet with gore and sweat-, 
their monarch's course they trace. 

They see him on his living throne, and quake 

with fear, the while 
With claws of steel he tears piecemeal his 

cushion's painted pile. 
On ! on ! no pause, no rest, giraffe, while life 

and strength remain ! 
The steed by such a rider backed, may madly 

plunge in vain. 

Reeling upon the desert's verge, he falls, arid 

breathes his last ; 
The courser, stained with dust and foam, Ih 

the rider's fell repast. 
O'er Madagascar, eastward far, a faint flush 

is descried : — 
Thus nightly, o'er his broad domain, the kinp 

of beasts doth ride. 

Ferdinand Feeilighath. (German.) 
Anonymous translation. 



THE LIOX AND GIRAFFE. 

WouLDST thou view the lion's den ? 

Search afar from haunts of men — 

Where the reed-encircled rill 

Oozes from the rocky hill. 

By its verdure far descried 

Mid the desert brown and wide. 

Close beside the sedgy brim, 
Couchant, lurks the lion grim ; 
Watching till the close of day 
Brings the death-devoted prey. 
Heedless at the ambushed brink 
The tall giraffe stoops down to drink 



THE DESERT 



YS 



Jpon him straight, tLe savage springs 

With cruel joy. The desert rings 

With clanging sound of desperate strife — 

The prey is strong, and he strives for life. 

Plunging off with frantic bound 

To shake the tyrant to the ground, 

He slirieks — he rushes through the waste. 

With glaring eye and headlong haste 

In vain ! — the spoiler on his jDrize 

Rides proudly — tearing as he flies. 

For life — the victim's utmost speed 

Is mustered in this hour of need. 

For lift5 — for life — his giant might 

He strains, and pours his soul in flight ; 

And mad with terror, thirst, and pain, 

Spurns with wild hoof the thundering plain. 

'T is vain ; the thirsty sands are drinking 

His streaming blood — his strength is sinking ; 

The victor's fangs are in his veins — 

His flanks are streaked with sanguine stains ; 

His panting breast in foam and gore 

Is bathed — he reels — his race is o'er. 

He falls — and, with convulsive throe. 

Resigns his throat to the ravening foe ! 

—And lo ! ere quivering life is fled, 

The vultures, wheeling overhead. 

Swoop down, to watch in gaunt array, 

Till the gorged tyrant quits his prey. 

Thomas Peingle. 



AFAR IX TIIE DESERT. 

Afae in the desert I love to ride. 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by ray side. 
When the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast. 
And, sick of the present, I cling to the past ; 
When the eye is suffused with regretful tears. 
From the fond recollections of former j^ears ; 
And shadows of things that have long since 

fled 
Flit over the brain, Hke the ghosts of the 

dead: 
Bright visions of glory that vanished too 

soon; 
Day-dreams, that departed ere manhood's 

noon; 
Attachments by fate or falsehood reft ; 
Oom.panions of early days lost or left — 
And my native laud — wliose magical name 
Thrills to the heart like electric flame ; 



The home of my childhood ; the haunts of 

my prime ; 
All the passions and scenes of that rapturous 

time 
When the feelings were young, and the world 

was new, 
Like the fresh bowers of Eden unfolding to 

\iew ; 
All — all now forsaken — ^forgotten — foregone ! 
And I — a lone exile remembered of none — 
My high aims abandoned, — my good acte 

undone — 
Aweary of all that is under the sun — 
With that sadness of heart which no stranger 

may scan, 
I fly to the desert afar from man. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side. 
When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life. 
With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and 

strife — 
The proud man's frown, and the base man's 

fear — 
The scorner's laugh, and the sufferer's tear — 
And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, 

and folly, 
Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy ; 
When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are 

high. 

And my soul is sick with the bondman's 

sigh — 
Oh ! then there is freedom, and joy, and 

pride. 
Afar in the desert alone to ride ! 
There is rapture to vault on the champinc 

steed. 
And to boimd away with the eagle's speed, 
With the death-fraught firelock in my hand — 
The only law of the Desert Land ! 

Afar in the desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side. 
Avray — away from the dwellings of men. 
By the wild deer's haunt, by the buffolo's glen ; 
By valleys remote where the oribi plays, 
Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the hai't^ 

beest graze. 
And the kudu and eland unlimited recline 
By the skirts of gray forest o'erhung witl' 

wild vine ; 



7b 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Where the elephant browses at peace in his 

wood, 
And the river-horse gambols unscared in the 

flood, 
And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will 
In the fen where the wild ass is drinking his 

fill. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride, 

With the silent Bash-boy alone by my side. 

O'er the brown kaiTOO, where the bleating 

cry 
Of the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively ; 
And the timorous quagga's shrill whisthng 

neigh 
Is heard by the fountain at twilight gray ; 
Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane, 
With wild hoof scouring the desolate plain ; 
And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste 
Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste. 
Hieing away to the home of her rest, 
Where she and her mate have scooped their 

nest. 
Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's view 
In the pathless depths of the parched karroo. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side. 
Away — away — in the wilderness vast 
Where the white man's foot hath never 

passed. 
And the quivered Coranna or Bechuan 
Hath rarely crossed with his roving clan : 
A region of emptiness, howling and drear. 
Which man hath abandoned from famine and 

fear; 
Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone, 
With the twilight bat from the yawning 

stone ; 
Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root, 
Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot ; 
And the bitter-melon, for food and drink. 
Is the pilgrim's fare by the salt-lake's brink ; 
A region of drought, where no river glides, 
Nor rippling brook with osiered sides ; 
Wliere sedgy pool, nor bubbhng fount, 
Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount. 
Appears, to refresh the aching eye ; 
But the barren earth and the burning sky, 
And the blank horizon, round and round, 
Bpread — void of living plight or i^ound. 



Ajid here, while the night-winds round me 

sigh. 
And the stars burn bright in fhQ midnight 

sky, 

As I sit apart by the desert stone, 

Like Elijah at Horeb's cave, alone, 

" A still small voice " comes through the wild 

(Like a father consoling his fretful child), 

Which banishes bitternei^s, wrath, and fear, 

Saying— Man is distant, but God is e ear! 

TnOilAB PRINOT.Ii 



THE BLOOD HOESE. 

Gamakea is a dainty steed. 
Strong, black, and of a noble breed, 
Full of fire, and full of bone, 
With all his line of fathers known ; 
Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, . 

But blown abroad by the pride within ! 
His mane is like a river flowing, 
And his eyes hke embers glowing 
In the darkness of the night, 
And his pace as swift as light. 

Look — ^how 'round his straining throat 

Grace and shifting beauty float ; 

Sinewy strength is in his reins, 

And the red blood gallops through his veino 

Richer, redder, never ran 

Through the boasting heart of man. 

He can trace his lineage higher 

Than the Bourbon dare aspire, — 

Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph, 

Or O'Brien's blood itself! 

He, who hath no peer, was bom, 

Here, upon a red March morn ; 

But his famous fathers dead 

Were Arabs aU, and Arab bred, 

And the last of that great line 

Trod like one of a race diviae ! 

And yet, — he was but friend to one. 

Who fed him at the set of sun. 

By some lone fountain fringed with green ; 

With him, a roving Bedouin, 

He lived (none else would he obey 

Through all the hot Arabian day),— 



SUMMER RAIN. 



And died untained upon the sands 
Wli(»re Balkh amidst tlie desert stands ! 

Babry Cobnwall. 



rNTOCATIOiT TO RAIN m SUMMER. 

O GENTLE, gentle summer rain, 

Let not the silver lily pine, 
The drooping lily pine in vain 

To feel that dewy touch of thine — 
To drink thy freshness once again, 
O gentle, gentle summer rain ! 

In heat the landscape quivering lies ; 

The cattle pant heneath the tree ; 
Through parching air and purple skies 

The earth looks up, in vain, for thee ; 
For thee — ^for thee, it looks in vain, 
O gentle, gentle summer rain ! 

Oome, thou, and hrim the meadow streams. 
And soften all the hills with mist, 

falling dew ! from hurning dreams 
By thee shall herb and flower be kissed ; 

And Earth shall bless thee yet again, 

gentle, gentle summer rain ! 

"W. C. Bennett. 



RAIN ON THE ROOF. 

When the humid shadows hover 

Over all the starry spheres. 
And the melancholy darkness 

Gently weeps in rainy tears, 
'T is a joy to press the pillow 

Of a cottage chamber bed, 
And to listen to the patter 

Of the soft rain overhead. 

Every tinkle on the shingles 

Has an echo in tlie heart ; 
And a thousand dreamy fancies 

Into busy being start. 
And a thousand recollections 

Weave their bright rays mto woof, 
As I listen to the patter 

Of the rain upon the roof. 



Now in fanoy comes my mother 

As she used to, years agone, 
To survey her darling dreamers, 

Ere she left them till the dawn. 
Oh ! I see her bending o'er me. 

As I list to this refrain 
Which is played upon the shingles 

By the patter of the rain. 

Then my little seraph sister. 

With her wings and waving hair, 
And her bright-eyed cherub brother— 

A serene, angeho pair — 
Glide around my wakeful pillow 

With their praise or mild reproof. 
As I listen to the murmur 

Of the soft rain on the roof. 

And another comes to thrill me 

With her eyes, delicious blue. 
And forget I, gazing on her, 

That her heart was all untrue ! 
I remember but to love her 

With a rapture kin to pain. 
And my heart's quick pulses vibrate 

To the patter of the rain. 

There is nought in Art's bravuras 

That can work with such a spell 
In the spirit's pure, deep fountains. 

Whence the holy passions well. 
As that melody of Nature, 

That subdued, subduing strain 
Which is played upon the shingles 

By the patter of the rain. 

ANONyT^IOl^i 



^ 



THE CLOUD. 

I BEING fresh showers for the thirstmg flowci>:, 

From the seas and the streams ; 
I bear hght shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noon-day dreams. 
From my wings are shaken the dews thi\\ 
waken 

The sweet birds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashmg hail. 

And whiten the green plains under ; 



78 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And then again I dissolve it in rain ; 
And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains uelow, 

And their great pines groan aghast , 
And all the night, 't is my pillow white, 

While I sleep in the arms of the hlast. 
Suhlime on the towers of my skiey bowsers 

Lightning, my pilot, sits ; 
In a cavern under, is fettered the thunder ; 

It struggles and liowls at fits. 
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding me. 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea ; 
Over the riUs, and the crags, and the hills, 

Over the lakes and the plains, 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or 
stream, 

The spirit he loves, remains ; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue 
smile, 

Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, 

xAnd his burning plumes outspread. 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack. 

When the morning star shines dead. 
As, on the jag of a mountain crag 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 
An eagle, alit, one moment may sit 

In the light of its golden wings ; 
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit 
sea beneath, 

Its ardors of rest and of love, 
And the crimson pall of eve may fall 

From the depth of heaven above. 
With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest. 

As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbed maiden with white fire laden» 

Whom mortals call the moon. 
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor 

By the midnight breezes strew^n ; 
And, wherever the beat of her unseen feet, 

Which only the angels hear. 
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin 
roof, 

The stars peep behind her and peer ; 
And I laugh to sec them whirl and flee. 



Like a swarm of golden bees. 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 

Till the calm river, lakes, and seas, 
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on 
high, 

Are each paved Tvitli the moon and Ukw- 

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, 

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; 
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and 
swim. 

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape^ 

Over a torrent sea. 
Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof. 

The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch, through which I march, 

With hurricane, fire, and snow. 
When the powers of the air are chained to 
my chair. 

Is the million-colored bow ; 
The sphere-fire above, its soft colors wove, 

While the moist earth was laughing be 
low. 

I am the daughter of the earth and water, 

And the nurseling of the sky ; 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and 
shores ; 
I change, but I cannot die. 
For after the rain, when, with never a stain. 

The pavilion of heaven is bare, 
And the winds and sunbeams, with their con- 
vex gleams. 
Build up the blue dome of air — 
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 

And out of the caverns of rain. 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from 
the tomb, 
I rise and upbuild it again. 

Percy Btsshe Shellky. ^ 



DEINKING. 

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, 
And drinks, and gapes for drink again ; 
The plants suck in the earth, and are. 
With constant drinking, fresh and fair; 



SUMMER WINDS. 



79 



The sea itself (which one would think 
Should have but little need to drink), 
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, 
So filled that thej overflow the cup. 
The busy sun (and one would guess 
B J 's drunken fiery face no less), 
Drinks up the sea, and, when he 'as done, 
The moon and stars drink up the sun : 
They drink and dance by their own light ; 
They drink and revel all the night. 
Nothing in nature 's sober found. 
But an eternal "health " goes round. 
Fill up the bowl then, fill it high — 
Fill all the glasses there ; for why 
Should every creature drink but I ; 
Why, man of morals, tell me why ? 

Anacreon. (Greek.) 
Translation of Abraham Cowley. 



THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE 
BURN. 

The midges dance aboon the burn ; 

The dews begin to fa' ; 
The pairtricks down the rushy holm 

Set up their e'ening ca'. 
Now loud and clear the blackbird's sang 

Rings through the briery shaw. 
While flitting gay, the swallows play 

Around the castle wa'. 

Beneath the golden gloamin' sky 

The mavis mends her lay ; 
The red-breast pours his sweetest strains, 

To charm the ling'ring day ; 
While weary yeldrins seem to wail 

Then* little nestlings torn. 
The merry wren, frae den to den, 

Gaes jinking through the thorn. 

The roses fauld their silken leaves. 

The foxglove shuts its bell ; 
The honey-suckle and the birk 

Spread fragrance through the dell. 
Let others crowd the giddy court 

Of mirth and revelry. 
The simple joys that Nature yields 

Are dearer far to rae. 

BOBSRT TaNNAHTLL. 



SONG OF THE SUMMER WINDS. 

Up the dale and down the bourne, 

^ O'er the meadow swift we fly ; 

Now we sing, and now we mourn, 

Now we whistle, now we sigh. 

By the grassy -fringed river. 

Through the murmuring reeds we sweep ; 
Mid the lily-leaves we quiver, 

To their very hearts we creep. 

Now the maiden rose is blushing 

At the frolic things we say. 
While aside her cheek we 're rushing, 

Like some truant bees at play. 

Through the blooming groves we rustio. 

Kissing every bud we pass, — 
As we did it in the bustle, 

Scarcely knowing how it was. 

Down the glen, across the mountain, 
O'er the yellow heath we roam. 

Whirling round about the fountain. 
Till its little breakers foam. 

Bending down the weeping willows. 
While our vesper hymn we sigh ; 

Then unto our rosy pillows 
On our weary wings we hie. 

There of idlenesses dreaming. 
Scarce ft'om waking we refrain. 

Moments long as ages deeming 
Till we're at our play again. 

George DAnLn 



THE WANDERING WIND. 

The Wind, the wandering Wind 

Of the golden summer eves — 
Whence is the thrilling magic 

Of its tones amongst the leaves ? 
Oh ! is it from the waters. 

Or, from the long tall grass? 
Or is it from the hollow rocks 

Through which its breathings pass if 



80 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Or is it from the voices 

Of iiU in one combined, 
That it wins the tone of mastery ? 

The Wind, the wandering Wind I 
]N"o, no ! the strange, sweet accents 

That with it come and go, 
They are not from the osiers, 

Kor the fir-trees whispering low. 

They are not of the waters, 

Nor of the caverned hill ; 
'T is the human love withir ns 

That gives them power to tlirill : 
They touch the links of memory 

Around our spirits twined. 
And we start, and weep, and tremble, 

To the Wind, the wandering Wind ? 
Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



ODE TO THE WEST WIND. 



O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's 

being. 
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves 

dead 
Are driven, hke ghosts from an enchanter 

fleeing — 
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red. 
Pestilence-stricken multitudes ! thou, 
Who chariotest to their dark, wintry bed 
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and 

low. 
Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
(Driving sweet buds, like flocks, to feed in 

air) 
With living hues and odors, plain and hill : 

Wild spirit, which art moving everywhere ; 
Destroyer and preserver ; hear, hear ! 



Thou, on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's 

commotion. 
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are 

shed. 



Shook fi'om the tangled boughs of heaven and 
ocean. 

Angels of rain and hghtning: there are spread 

On blue surface of thine airy surge. 

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 

Of some flerce Moonad, even from the dim 

verge 
Of the horizon to the zenith's height. 
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou 

dirge 

Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
Will be the dome of a vast sephulchre 
Vaulted with all thy congregated might 

Of vapors ; from whose solid atmosphere 
Black rain, and flre, and hail, will burst: O 
hear! 

in. 

Thou who didst waken from his^summer 

dreams 
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay. 
Lulled by the coil of his crystalUne streams, 
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay. 
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers. 
Quivering within the waves' intenser day, 

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers 
So sweet the sense faints picturing them I 

Thou 
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 

Cleave themselves into chasms, while, far be- 
low. 

The sea-blooms, and the oozy woods which 
wear 

The sapless fohage of the ocean, know 

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear 
And tremble and despoil themselves: O 
hear ! 

IV. 

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ; — 
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; — 
A wave to pant beneath thy power and sharo 
Tlie impulse of thy strength — only less free 
Than thou, O uncontrollable 1 If even 
I were as in my boyhood, and could be 



t 



i 



THE SEA. 



Bl 



riie comrade of thy wanderings over heaven 
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed 
Scarce seemed a vision, I would ne'er have 
striven 

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 
Oh ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
1 fall upon the thorns of life ! I hleed ! 

A heavy weight of hours has chaii^ed and 

bowed 
One too hke thee— tameless, and swift, and 

proud. 

v. 

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is. 
What if my leaves are falhng like its own ! 
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 

Will take from both adeep autumnal tone — 
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit 

fierce. 
My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! 

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe, 
Like \\dthered leaves, to quicken a new birth ; 
And, by the incantation of this verse. 

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth 
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
Be through my lips to unawakened earth 

The trumpet of a prophecy ! wind. 
If winter comes, can spring be far behind ? 
Perot Bysshe Shelley. 



THE SEA. 

The sea! the sea! the open sea! 

The blue, the fresli, the ever free ! 

Without a mark, without a bound, 

It runneth the earth's wide regions round ; 

It plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ; 

Or like a cradled creature lies. 

I 111 ot the sea! I'm on the sea! 
] am where I would ever be ; 
With the blue above, and the blue below. 
And silence wheresoever I go ; 
[f a storm siiould come and awake the deep. 
What matter ? I shall ride and sleep. 
15 



I love, oh how I love to ride 
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, 
WTien every mad wave drowns the moon, 
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, 
A^d tells how goeth the world below, 
And why the sou' west blasts do blow. 

I never was on the dull, tame shore. 
But I loved the great sea more and more, 
And backward flew to her billowy breast, 
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest ; 
And a mother she was, and is, to me; 
For I was born on the open sea ! 

The waves were white, and red the morn. 
In the noisy hour when I was born ; 
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, 
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold ; 
And never was heard such an outcry wild 
As welcomed to life the ocean-child ! 

I 've lived since then, in calm and strife. 
Full fifty summers, a sailor's life. 
With wealth to spend, and power to range. 
But never have sought nor sighed for change ; 
And Death, whenever he comes to me. 
Shall come on the ^vild, unbounded sea! 

Bakry Cornwali^ 



THE STOEMY PETREL. 

A THOUSAND miles from land are we. 
Tossing about on the stormy sea — 
From billow to bounding billow cast. 
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast. 
The sails are scattered abroad like weeds ; 
The strong masts shake like quivering reeds ; 
The mighty cables and iron chains ; 
The hull, which all earthly strength disdains, — 
They strain and they crack; and hearts like 

stone 
Their natural, hard, proud strength disown. 

Up and down ! — up and down ! 

From the base of the wave to the billow'o 

crown, 
And amidst the flashing and feathery foam, 
The stormy petrel finds a home 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



1 



A home, if such a place may be 

For her who Uves on the wide, wide sea, 

On the craggy ice, in the frozen air. 

And only seeketh her rocky lair 

To warm her young, and to teach them to 

spring 
At once o'er the waves on their stormy 

wing ! 

O'er the deep I — o'er the deep! 

Where the whale, and the shark, and the 

sword-fish sleep — 
Outflying the blast and the driving rain. 
The petrel telleth her tale — in vain ; 
For the mariner curseth the warning bird 
Which bringeth him news of the storm un- 
heard ! 
Ah ! thus does the prophet of good or ill 
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still; 
Yet he ne'er falters — so, petrel, spring 
Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy 

wing! 

Babsy Coenwall. 



^ WET SHEET A^^D A FLO WING SEA. 

A WET sheet and a flowing sea — 

A wind that follows fast. 
And fills the white and rustling sail, 

And bends the gallant mast — 
And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 
. While, like the eagle free. 
Away the good ship flies, and leaves 

Old England on the lee. 

Oh for a soft and gentle wind I 

I heard a fair one cry ; 
But give to me the snoring breeze, 

And white waves heaving high — 
And white raves heaving high, my boys, 

The good ship tiglit and free ; 
The world c f waters is our home. 

And merry men are we. 

rhere 's teraoest in yon horned moon. 
And lightning in yon cloud ; 

And hark the music, mariners ! 
The wind is piping loud — 



The wind is piping loud, my boys. 

The lightning flashing free ; 
While the hollow oak our palace ib, 

Our heritage the sea. 



Allan Cijnninuu/vWl 



TWILIGHT. 

The twilight is sad and cloudy ; 

The wind blows wild and free ; 
And like the wings of sea-birds 

Flash the white caps of the sea. 

But in the fisherman's cottage 
There shines a ruddier light, 

And a little face at the window 
Peers out into the night ; 

Close, close it is pressed to the window, 

As if those childish eyes 
Were looking into the darkness. 

To see some form arise. 

And a woman's waving shadow 

Is passing to and fro, 
Xow rising to the ceiling, 

isTow bowing and bending low. 

What tale do the roaring ocean 

And the night- wind, bleak and wild. 

As they beat at the crazy casement, 
Tell to that little child ? 

And why do the roaring ocean. 

And the night-wind, wild and bleak, 

As they beat at the heart of the mother, 
Drive the color from her cheek ? 

Hexry Wadswoeth Loxgfellow. 



STORM SONG. 

The clouds are scudding across the moon • 

A misty light is on the sea ; 
The wind in the shronds has a wintry tuno. 

And the foam is flying free. 



THE OCEAN. 



88 



Brothers, a night of terror and gloom 
Speaks in the cloud and gathering roar ; 

Thank God, He has given us broad sea-room, 
A thousand miles from shore. 

Down with tlie hatches on those who sleep ! 

The wild and whistling deck have we ; 
Good watch, my brothers, to-night we'll keep. 

While the tempest is on the sea ! 

Though the rigging shriek in his terrible grip, 
And the naked spars be snapped away, 

Lashed to the helm, we'll drive our ship 
In the teeth of the whelming spray ! 

Hark ! how the surges o'erleap the deck ! 

Hark ! how the pitiless tempest raves ! 
Ah, daylight will look upon many a wreck 

Drifting over the desert- waves. 

Yet, courage, brothers ! we trust the wave, 
With God above us, our guiding chart. 

So, whether to harbor or ocean-grave. 
Be it still with a cheery heart ! 

Bayard Taylor. 



¥0A¥, MOAI:^, YE DYIISTG GALES. 

Moan, moan, ye dying gales ! 
The saddest of your tales 

Is not so sad as^ife ; 
IlTor have you e'er began 
A theme so wild as man. 

Or with such sorrow rife. 

Fall, fall, thou withered leaf! 
Autumn sears not like grief, 

Nor kills such lovely flowers ; 
More terrible the storm. 
More mournful the deform. 

When dark misfortune lowers. 

Hush I hush ! thou trembling lyre, 
Silence, ye vocal choir, 
And thou, mellifluous lute, 



For man soon breathes his last, 
And all his hope is past, 
And all his music mute. 

Then, when the gale is sighing, 
And when the leaves are dying, 

And when the song is o'er. 
Oh, let us think of those 
Whose lives are lost in woes. 

Whose cup of grief runs o'er. 

Henry Nmnrji 



SEAWEED. 

When descends on the Atlantic 

The gigantic 
Storm-wind of the equinox. 
Landward in his wrath he scourges 

The toiling surges. 
Laden with seaweed from the rocks; 

From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges 

Of sunken ledges 
In some far-ofi", bright Azore ; 
From Bahama, and the dashing. 

Silver-flashing 
Surges of San Salvador ; 



From the tumbling surf that buriee 

The Orkneyan skerries. 
Answering the hoarse Hebrides ; 
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting 

Spars, uplifting 
On the desolate, rainy seas ; — 



Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless, main ; 
Till in sheltered coves, and roaoLed 

Of sandy beaches,^ 
All have found repose aga^^* 

So when storms of wiid emot.^^^ 

Strike the ocean 
Of the poet's soul, ere long, 



34 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



From each cave and rocky fastness 

In its vastness, 
Floats some fragment of a song : 

From the far-off isles enchanted 

Heaven has planted 
With the golden frnit of truth ; 
From the flashing surf, whose vision 

Gleams elysian 
In the tropic clime of Youth ; 

From the strong will, and the endeavor 

That for ever 
Wrestles with the tides of fate ; 
From the wreck of hopes far-scattered. 

Tempest-shattered, 
Floating waste and desolate ; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless heart ; 
Till at length in books recorded, 

They, like hoarded 
Household words, no more depart. 

Henry Wadswokth Longfellotv 



GULF-WEED. 

A. WEARY weed, tossed to and fro, 

Drearily drenched in the ocean brine. 
Soaring high and sinking low, 

Lashed along without will of mine ; 
Sport of the spoom of the surging sea ; 

Flung on the foam, afar and anear, 
Mark my manifold mystery, — 

Growth and grace in their place appear. 

tl^rries, gray and red, 
"*-( rover though I be ; 
^aves, when nicely spread, 
jolWSd* iig c^ trunkless tree ; 

iiite i|nd harcl in apt array ; 
iiiid the ^fy-'iia \j-aves' rude up- ^a", 
Grac4}fiij^,gPQ^y j^ night ax» - ': 




Hearts there are on the sounding shore, 

Something whispers soft to me, 
Restless and roaming for evermore, 

Like this weary weed of the sea ; 
Bear they yet on each beating breast 

The eternal type of the wondrous whole 
Growth unfolding amidst unrest, 

Grace informing with silent soul. 

Cornelius George Fenmek. 



THE SEA— Il!T CALM. 

Look what immortal floods the sunset pours 
Upon us — ^Mark ! how still (as though in 

dreams 
Bound) the once wild and terrible oceaL 

seems ! 
How silent are the winds ! no billow' roars ; 
But all is tranquil as Elysian shores. 
The silver margin which aye runneth round 
The moon-enchanted sea, hath here no sound; 
Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors * 
What ! is the giant of the ocean dead. 
Whose strength was all unmatched beneatii 

the sun ? 
'No : he reposes ! !N"ow his toils are done ; 
More quiet than the babbling brooks is he. 
So mightiest powers by deepest calms are fed, 
And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be^ 

Barry Cornwall. 



THE LITTLE BEACH-BIRD. 



Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, 
Why takest thou its melancholy voice. 
And with that boding cry 
'er the waves dost thou fly ? 
Oh ! rather, bird, with me 
Through the fair land rejoice ! 



Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and paje 
As driven by a beating storm at sea ; 
Thy cry is weak and scared. 
As if thy mates had shared 
Tne doom of us. Thy -wail — 
What does it bring to me ? 



HAMPTON BEACH. 



85 



III. 

Thou call'st aiong the sand, and haunt 'st the 
surge, 
Rcatless and sad ; as if, in strange accord 
With the motion and the roar 
Of waves that drive to shore, 
Oiic spirit did ye urge — 
The Mystery — the Word. 

IV. 

Of thousands thou both sepulchre and pall, 
Old Ocean, art ! A requiem o 'er the dead 
From out thy gloomy cells 
A tale of mourning tells — 
Tells of man's woe and fall. 
His sinless glory fled. 

V. 

Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight 
Where the complaining sea shall sadness 
bring . 
Thy spirit never more. 
Come, quit with me the shore 
For gladness, and the light 
Where birds of summer sing. 

KiCHAKD Henry Dana. 



THE CORAL GEOVE. 

Deep in the wave is a coral grove. 

Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove ; 

Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of 

blue 
That never are wet with falling dew. 
But in bright and changeful beauty shine 
Far down in the green and glassy brine. 
The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, 
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; 
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift 
Tlieir boughs, where the tides and billows 

flow; 
The water is calm and still below, 
For the winds and waves are absent there. 
And the sands are bright as the stars that 

glow 
[n the motionless fields of upper air. 



There, with its waving blade of green, 

The sea-flag streams through the silent water^ 

And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 

To blush, IxKe a banner bathed in slaughter. 

T^ere, with a light and easy motion, 

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep 

sea; 
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 
Are bending like corn on the upland lea. 
And life, in rare and beautiful forms. 
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone. 
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms 
Has made the top of the wave his own. 
And when the ship from his fury flies, 
Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, 
When the wind-god frowns in the murky 

skies. 
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; 
Then, far below, in the peaceful sea. 
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove 
Where the waters murmur tranquilly. 
Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. 
James Gates Peeoival. 



HAMPTON^ BEACH. 

The sunlight glitters keen and briglit. 

Where, miles away. 
Lies stretching to my dazzled sight 
■ A luminous belt, a misty light. 
Beyond the dark pine bluflTs and wastes of 
sandy gray. 

The tremulous shadow of the sea ! 

Against its ground 
Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree, 
Still as a picture, clear and free. 
With varying outline marl: the coast for 
miles around. 

On — on — we tread with lo^^^i. vir^ 

Our seaward way, 
Through dark-green fields and bloi 

grain. 
Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane, 
And ben^^>bove our heads the flowering* 
5ust spray. 



^M 



80 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ha ! like a kind hand on my brow 

Comes this fresh breeze, 
Cooling its dull and feverish glow, 
While through my oeing seems to flow 
The breath of a new life — the healing of the 



Kow rest we, where this grassy mound 

His feet hath set 
In the great waters, which have bound 
His granite ankles greenly round 
With long and tangled moss, and weeds with 
cool spray wet. 

Good-bye to pain and care ! I take 

Mine ease to-day ; 
Here, where these sunny waters break. 
And ripples this keen breeze, I shake 
All burdens from the heart, all weary 
thoughts away. 

I draw a freer breath ; ' 1 seem 

Like all I see — 
Waves in the sun — the white-winged gleam 
0^ sea-birds in the slanting beam — 
And far-oif sails which flit before the south 
wind free. 

So when Time's veil shall fall asunder. 

The soul may know 
No fearful change, nor sudden wonder, 
IS'or sink the weight of mystery under. 
But with the upward rise, and with the vast- 
ness grow. 

And all we shrink from now may seem 

ISTo new revealing — 
Familiar as our childhood's stream, 
Or pleasant memory of a dream. 
The loved and cherished Past upon the new 
life stealing. 

Serene and mild, the untried light 

May have its dawning ; 
And, as in Summer's northern light 
The evening and the dawn unite. 
The sunset hues of Time blend Avith the soul's 
new morning. 



I sit alone ; in foam and spray 

Wave after wave 
Breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray. 
Beneath like fallen Titans lay. 
Or murmurs hoarse and strong throur^h moss} 
cleft and cave. 

What heed I of the dusty land 

And noisy town ? 
I see the mighty deep expand 
From its white line of glimmering sand 
To where the blue of heaven on bluer wavey 
shuts down ! 

In listless quietude of mind, 

I yield to all 
The change of cloud and wave and wind ; 
And passive on the flood reclined, 
I wander with the waves, arid with them rise 
and fall. 

But look, thou dreamer ! — wave and shore 

In shadow lie ; 
The night-wind warns me back once more 
To where my native hill-tops o'er 
Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset 
sky! 

So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell 1 

I bear with me 
No token stone nor glittering shell. 
But long and oft shall Memory tell 
Of this brief, thoughtful, hour of musing b> 
the sea. 

JouN Gkeenleap Wiiittiek. 



TO SEJSTECA LAKE. 

On thy fair bosom, silver lake. 
The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, 

And round his breast the ripples break. 
As down he bears before the gale. 

On thy fair bosom, waveless stream. 
The dipping paddle echoes far. 

And flashes in the moonlight gleam, 
And brifijht reflects the polar star. 



• YARROW. 



The waves along thy pebbly shore, 
As blows the north-wind, heave their foam 

And curl around the dashing oar, 
As late the boatman hies him home. 

How eweet, at set of sun, to view 
Thy golden mirror spreading wide. 

And sec the mist of mantling blue 
Float roand the distant mountain's side. 

At midnight hour, as shines the moon, 
A sheet of silver spreads below. 

And swift she cuts, at highest noon, 
Light clouds, like wreaths of purest snow. 

On thy fair bosom, silver lake. 
Oh! I could ever sweep the oar, — 

When early birds at morning wake. 
And evening tells us toil is o'er. 

James Gates Peecival. 



YARROW UNYISITED.* 

From Stirling castle we had seen 
The raazy Forth unravelled ; 
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, 
And with the Tweed had travelled ; 
And when we came to Clovenford, 
Then said my " winsome marrow :" 
" Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside. 
And see the braes of Yarrow." 

"Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town. 

Who have been buying, selling. 

Go back to Yarrow ; 'tis their own — 

Each' maiden to her dwelling ! 

On Yarrow's banks let herons feed. 

Hares couch, and rabbits burrow ! 

But we will downward with the Tweed, 

Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 

'^There's Gall a Water, Leader Haughs, 
Both lying right before us ; 
Vnd Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed 
The lintwhites sing in chorus ; 

♦ See the various poems, the scene of which is laid upon 
the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite 
Dallad of Ilainilton, on page 450 of this volume, begin- 
ilug: 

"Busk ye, busk ye, ray bonny, bonny Bride, 
Bnsk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow 1 " 



There 's pleasant Teviot-dale, a land 
Made blithe with plough and harrow : 
Why throw away a needful day 
To go in search of Yarrow ? 

"that's Yarrow but a river bare, 

That glides the dark hills under ? 

There are a thousand such elsewhere, 

As worthy of your wonder." 

Strange words they seemed, of slight and 

scorn ; 
My true-love sighed for sorrow. 
And looked me in the face, to think 
I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 

" Oh, green," said I, ^* are Yarrow's holmii 
And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock. 
But we will leave it growing. 
O'er hilly path, and open strath, 
AYe '11 wander Scotland thorough ; 
But, though so near, we will not turn 
Into the dale of Yarrow. 

''Let beeves and homebred kine partake 
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; 
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake 
Float double, swan and shadow ! 
We will not see them ; will not go 
To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; 
Enough, if in our hearts we know 
There's such a place as Yarrow. 

"Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! 
Tt must, or we shall rue it : 
We have a vision of our own : 
Ah ! why should we undo it ? 
The treasured dreams of times long past. 
We'll keep them^ winsome Marrow ! 
For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 
'T will be another Yarrow ! 

"If care with freezing years should come, 
And wandering seem but folly, — 
Should we be loth to stir from home, 
And yet be melancholy, — 
Should life be dull, and spirits low, 
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow, 
That earth has somctliing yet to show — 
The bonny holms of Yarrow ! " 

William Wordswoktu 



S8 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



YAREOW VISITED. 

iVxD is this — Yarrow ? — This the stream 

Of which my fancy cherislied, 

So faithfully, a waking dream ? 

An image that hath perished ! 

that some minstrel's harp were near, 

To utter notes of gladness, 

And chase this silence from the air, 

That fills my heart with sadness ! 

Yet why ? — a silvery current flows 
With uncontrolled meander in gs ; 
^Nor have these eyes by greener hills 
Been soothed, in all my wanderings. 
And, through her depths. Saint Mary's lake 
Is visibly delighted ; 
For not a feature of those hills 
Is in the mirror slighted. 

A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale. 

Save where that pearly whiteness 

Is round the rising sun diffused — 

A tender, hazy brightness ; 

Mild dawn of promise ! that excludes 

All profitless dejection ; 

Though not unwilling here to admit 

A pensive recollection. 

Where was it that the famous Flower 

Of Yarrow Yale lay bleeding? 

His bed perchance was yon smooth mound 

On which the herd is feeding ; 

And haply from this crystal pool, 

Now peaceful as the morning. 

The water-wraith ascended thrice. 

And gave his doleful warning. 

Delicious is the lay that sings 

The haunts of happy lovers — 

The path that leads them to the grove, 

The leafy grove that covers ; 

And pity sanctifies the verse 

That paints, by strength of sorrow, 

The unconquerable strength of love: 

Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! 

But thou, that didst appear so fair 
To fond imagination, 
Dost riral in the light of day 
Her delicate creation. 



Meek loveliness is round thee spread — 
A softness still and holy. 
The grace of forest charms decayed. 
And pastoral melancholy. 

That region left, the vale unfolds 

Rich groves of lofty stature. 

With Yarrow winding through the pomp 

Of cultivated nature ; 

And, rising from those lofty groves. 

Behold a ruin hoary ! 

The shattered front of Newark's towers. 

Renowned in border story. 

Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom 

For sportive youth to stray in ; 

For manhood to enjoy his strength, 

And age to wear away in ! 

Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, 

A covert for protection 

Of tender thoughts, that nestle there,- - 

The brood of chaste affection. 

How sweet, on this autumnal day. 
The wild-wood fruits to gather. 
And on my true-love's forehead plant 
A crest of blooming heather ! 
And what if I inwreathed my own ! 
'T were no offence to reason ; 
The sober hills thus deck their browB 
To meet the wintry season. 

I see, — but not by sight alone. 

Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; 

A ray of fancy still survives, — 

Her sunshine plaj^s upon thee ! 

Thy ever-youthful waters keep 

A course of lively pleasure ; 

And gladsome notes my lips can breatlie, 

Accordant to the measure. 

The vapors linger round the heights ; 
They melt, and soon must vanish ; 
One hour is theirs, nor more is mine : 
Sad thought, which I would banish 
But that I know, where'er I go, 
Thy genuine image, Yarrow, 
Will dwell with me, to heighten joy, 
And cheer my mind in sorrow. 

William Wordswoeth. 



YARROW. 



m 



YARROW REVISITED. 



The following totanzas are a memorial of a day passed 
ulth Sir Walter Scott and other friends, visiting the banks 
of the Yarrow under his guidance — immediately before 
tiLg departure from Abbotsford, for Naples. 



The gallant youth, who may have gained, 

Or seeks, a "winsome marrow," 
Was but an infant in tlie lap 

When first I looked on Yarrow ; 
Once more, by Newark's castle-gate — 

Long left without a warder, 
I stood, looked, listened, and with thee. 

Great Minstrel of the Border ! 



Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, 

Their dignity installing 
In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves 

Were on the bough, or falling ; 
But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed. 

The forest to embolden ; 
Reddened the fiery hues, and shot 

Transparence through the golden. 



For busy thoughts, the stream fiowed on 

In foamy agitation ; 
And slept in many a crystal pool 

For quiet contemplation. 
No public and no private care 

The freeborn mind enthralling, 
We made a day of happy hours, 

Our happy days recalling. 



Brisk Youth appeared, the morn of youth. 

With freaks of graceful folly, — 
Life's temperate noon, her sober eve. 

Her night not melancholy ; 
Past, present, future, all appeared 

In harmony united, 
Mke guests that meet, and some from far, 

By cordial love invited. 

And if, as Yarrow, through the woods 
And down the meadow ranging. 

Did meet us with unaltered face. 
Though we were changed and changing- 



If, then, some natural shadows spread 

Our inward prospect over. 
The soul's deep valley was not slow 

Its brightness to recover. 

Eternal blessings on the Muse, 

And her divine employment ! 
The blameless Muse, who trains her sons 

For hope and calm enjoyment; 
Albeit sickness, lingering yet, 

Has o'er their pillow brooded ; 
And care waylays their steps, — a sprite 

ISTot easily eluded. 

For thee, Scott ! compelled to change 

Green Eildon Hill and Cheviot 
For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes ; 

And leave thy Tweed and Teviot 
For mild Sorrento's breezy waves ; 

May classic fancy, linking 
With native fancy her fresh aid, 

Preserve thy heart from sinking I 

0, while they minister to thee. 

Each vying with the other, 
May health return to mellow age, 

With strength, her venturous brother ; 
And Tiber, and each brook and rill 

Renowned in song and story, 
With unimagined beauty shine, 

Nor lose one ray of glory ! 

For thou, upon a hundred streams, 

By tales of love and sorrow. 
Of faithful love, undaunted truth, 

Hast shed the power of Yarrow ; 
And streams unknown, hills yet unseeu, 

Wherever they invite thee. 
At parent Nature's grateful call 

With gladness must requite thee. 

A gracious welcome shall be thine — 

Such looks of love and honor 
As thy own Yarrow gave to me 

When first I gazed upon her — 
Beheld what I had feared to see, 

Unwilling to surrender 
Dreams treasured up from early dnyp 

The holy and the tender. 



90 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And what, for this frail world, were all 

That mortals do or suffer, 
Did no responsive harp, no pen. 

Memorial tribute offer ? 
Yea, what were mighty ^N'ature's self — 

Her features, could they win us, 
Unhelped by the poetic voice 

That hourly speaks within us ? 

Nor deem that localized romance 

Plays false with our affections : 
Unsanctifies our tears, — made sport 

For fanciful dejections. 
Ah, no ! the visions of the past 

Sustain the heart in feeling 
Life as she is, — our changeful life. 

With friends and kindred dealing. 

Bear witness, ye, whose thoughts that day 

In Yarrow's groves were centred ; 
Who through the silent portal arch 

Of mouldering l^ewark entered ; 
And clomb the winding stair that once 

Too timidly Avas mounted 
By the "last Minstrel" (not the last!). 

Ere he his tale recounted ! 

Flow on for ever, Yarrow stream ! 

Fulfil thy pensile duty, 
Well pleased that future bards should chant 

For simple hearts thy beauty ; 
To dream-hght dear while yet unseen. 

Dear to the common sunshine, 
^nd dearer still, as now I feel. 

To memory's shadowy moonshine ! 

'WrLLIA:si "WORDSWOKTH. 



A SOl^G FOR SEPTEMBFR. 

September strews the woodland o'er 

With many a brilliant color ; 
The world is brighter than before — 

Why should our hearts be duller? 
Sorrow and the scarlet leaf. 

Sad thoughts and sunny weather ! 
Ah me ! this glory and this grief 

Agree not well together. 

This is the parting season — ^this 
The time when friends arc flying ; 



And lovers now, with many a kiss, 
Their long farewells are sighing. 

Why is Earth so gayly drest ? 
This pomp, that Autumn bearetL, 

A funeral seems, where every guest 
A bridal garment weareth. 

Each one of us, perchance, may here, 

On som<3 blue morn hereafter, 
Eetum to view the gaudy year, 

But not with boyish laughter. 
We shall then be wrinkled men, 

Our brows with silver laden. 
And thou this glen mayst seek again, 

But nevermore a maiden ! 

Nature perhaps foresees that Spring 

Will touch her teeming bosom. 
And that a few brief months will "brin^ 

The bird, the bee, the blossom ; 
Ah ! these forests do not know — 

Or would less brightly wither — 
The virgin that adorns them so 

Will never more come hither ! 

Thomas William PAtaoiia 



4 



EOBIN EEDBPvEAST, 

Good-bye, good-bye to Summer ! 

For Summer 's nearly done ; 
The garden smiling faintly, 

Cool breezes in the sun ; 
Our thrushes now are silent. 

Our swallows flown away,- 
But Eobin 's here in coat of browix, 

And scarlet breast-knot gay. 
Eobin, robin redbreast, 

Eobin dear! 
Eobin sings so sweetly 

In the falling of the year. 

Bright yellow, red, and orange. 

The leaves come down in hosts ; 
Tlie trees are Indian princes. 

But soon they 'U turn to ghosts ; 
The leathery pears and apples 

Hang russet on the bough ; 
It 's autumn, autumn, autumn lato, 

'T will soon be winter now. 



n 



AUTUMN. 



9] 



"Robin, robin redbreast, 

Eobin dear ! 
And what wiJl this poor robin do? 

For pinching days are near. 

The fire-side for the cricket, 

The wheat-stack for the mouse, 
Wlien trembUng night- winds whistle 

And moan all round the house. 
The frosty ways like iron, 

The branches plumed with snow, — 
Alas ! in winter dead and dark, 

Where can poor Robin go ? 
Robm, robin redbreast, 

Eobin dear ! 
And a crumb of bread for Robin, 

His little breast to cheer. 

William Allingham. 



FIDELITY. 

A BARKING sound the shepherd hears, 
A cry as of a dog or fox ; 
He halts, — and searches with his eyes 
Among the scattered rocks ; 
And now at distance can discern 
A stirring in a brake of fern ; 
And instantly a dog is seen. 
Glancing through that covert green. 

The dog is not of mountain breed ; 

Its motions, too, are wild and shy — 

With something, as the shepherd thinks. 

Unusual in its cry ; 

Nor is there any one in sight 

AU round, in hollow or on height ; 

Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear. 

What is the creature doing here ? 

It was a cove, a huge recess. 

That keeps, till June, December's snow ; 

A lofty precipice in front, 

A silent tarn below ! 

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, 

Remote from public road or dwelling, 

i*alhway, or cultivated land, — 

From trace of human foot or hand. 

There sometimes doth a leaping fish 
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer ; 
The crags repeat the raven's croak 
Id symphony austere ; 



Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud, 
And mists that spread the flying shroud : 
And sunbeams ; and the sounding blast. 
That, if it could, would hurry past ; 
But that enormous barrier holds it fast. 

Not free from boding thoughts, awhile 
The shepherd stood ; then makes his way 
O'er rocks and stones, following the dog 
As quickly as he may ; 
Nor far had gone before he found 
A human skeleton on the ground. 
The appalled discoverer with a sigh 
Looks round, to learn the history. 

From those abrupt and perilous rocks 

The man had fallen, that place of fear ! 

At length upon the shepherd's mind 

It breaks, and aU is clear. 

He instantly recalled the name. 

And who he was, and whence he came ; 

Remembered, too, the very day 

On which the traveller passed this way. 

But hear a wonder, for whose sake 

This lamentable tale I teU ! 

A lasting monument of words 

This wonder merits weU. 

The dog, which still was hovering nigh, 

Repeating the same timid cry. 

This dog had been through three months 

space 
A dweller in that savage place. 

Yes, proof was plain that, since the day 
When this ill-fated traveller died, 
The dog had watched about the spot, 
Or by his master's side. 
How nourished here through such long time 
He knows who gave that love sublime, 
And gave that strength of feeling, great 
Above all human estimate ! 

William "WoRDBWOMa 



TO MEADOWS. 

Ye have been fresh and green ; 

Ye have been filled with flowers; 
And ye the walks have been 

Where rnaids have spent their hour« 



a2 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Ye have beheld where they 

With wicker arks did come, 
To kiss and bear awaj 

The richer cowslips heme ; 

You Ve heard them sweetly sing, 

And seen them in a round ; 
Each virgin, like the Spring, 

With honeysuckles crowned. 

But now we see none here 
Whose silvery feet did tread, 

And with dishevelled hair 
Adorned this smoother mead. 

Like unthrifts, having spent 
Your stock, and needy grown. 

You 're left here to lament 
Your poor estates alone. 

EOBEKT HeREICK. 



THE HUSBAKDMAX 

Earth, of man the bounteous mother, 
Feeds him still with corn and wine ; 

lie who best would aid a brother, 
Shares with him these gifts divine. 

Many a power within her bosom. 

Noiseless, hidden, works beneath ; 
Hence are seed, and leaf, and blc\ssom. 

Golden ear and clustered wreath. 

These to swell with strength and beauty 

Is the royal task of man ; 
Man 's a king ; his throne is duty. 

Since his work on earth began. 

Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage — 
These, like man, are fruits of earth ; 

Stamped in clay, a heavenly mintage, 
AU from dust receive their birth. 

Barn and mill, and wine-vat's treasures, 
Earthly goods for earthly lives — 

These are Nature's ancient pleasures ; 
These her child from her derives. 

What the dream, but vain rebeUing, 
If from earth we sought to flee? 

^T is our stored and ample dwelling ; 
'T is from it the skies we Bee. 



Wind and frost, and hour and season, 
Land and water, sun and shade — 

Work with these, as bids thy reason. 
For they work thy toil to aid. 

Sow thy seed, and reap in gladness ! 
Man himself is all a seed ; 

Hope and hardship, joy and sadness- 
Slow the plant to ripeness lead. 



TO THE FEINGED GENTIAN. 

Thou blossom, bright with autumn dew, 
And colored with the heaven's own blue. 
That openest when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night ; 

Thou comest not when violets lean 
O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, 
Or columbines, in purple dressed. 
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. 

I Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, 
When woods are bare and birds are flown, 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged Year is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky, 
Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean wall. 

I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
May look to heaven as I depart. 

William Cullen Bryant, 



CORNFIELDS. 

When on the breath of autumn breeze 
From pastures dry and brown, 

Goes floating like an idle thought 
The fair white thistle-down, 

Oh then what joy to walk at will 

Upon the golden harvest hill ! 

What joy in dreamy ease to lie 

Amid a field new shorn. 
And see all round on sun-lit slopes 

The piled-up stacks of corn ; 



AUTUMN. 



93 



And send the fancy wandering o'er 
AH pleasant harvest-fields of yore. 

I feel the day — I see the field, 
The quivering of the leaves, 

And good old Jacob and his house 
Binding the yellow sheaves ; 

Aad at this very hour I seem 

To be with Joseph in- his dream. 

I see the fields of Bethlehem, 

And reapers many a one, 
Bending unto their sickles' stroke — 

And Boaz looking ©n ; 
And Kuth, the Moabite so fair, 
Among the gleaners stooping there. 

Again I see a little child, 
His mother's sole delight, — 

God's living gift of love unto 
The kind good Shunammite ; 

To mortal pangs I see him yield. 

And the lad bear him from the field. 

The sun-bathed quiet of the hills, 

The fields of Galilee, 
That eighteen hundred years ago 

Were full of corn, I see ; 
And the dear Saviour takes His way 
'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath day. 

Oh, golden fields of bending corn. 

How beautiful they seem ! 
The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, 

To me are like a dream. 
The sunshine and the very air 
Seem of old time, and take me there. 

Mary Howitt. 



AUTUMN FLOWEPwS. 

Thosk few pale Autumn flowers, 

How beautiful they are I 
Than all that went before. 
Than all the Summer store, 
How lovelier lar ! 

And why? — They are the last I 
The last! thelajt! the last 1 
Oh! by that little word 
How many thoughts are stirred 
That whisper of the past ! 



Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers I 

Ye 're types of precious things ; 
Types of those bitter moments. 
That flit, like life's enjoyments, 
On rapid, rapid wings : 

Last hours with parting dear ones 
(That TimjS the fastest spends) 

Last tears in silence shed, 

Last words half uttered, 
Last looks of dying friends. 

Who but would fain compress 

A life into a day, — 
The last day spent with one 
Who, ere the morrow's sun. 

Must leave us, and for aye ? 

precious, precious moments ! 

Pale flowers ! ye 're types of tho^ ; 
The saddest, sweetest, dearest, 
Because, like those, the nearest 

To an eternal close. 

Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers I 
I woo your gentle breath — 

1 leave the Summer rose 
For younger, blither brows ; 

Tell me of change and death ! 

Caroline Bowles Soitthkt. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest 
of the year. 

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and 
meadows brown and sere. 

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the au- 
tumn leaves lie dead ; 

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the 
rabbit's tread. 

The robin and the wren are flown, and from 
the shrubs the jay. 

And from the wood-top calls the crow through 
all the gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fiiir young flow 
ers that lately sprang and stood 

In brighter liglit, and softer airs, a beauteous 
sisterhood ? 

Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentk 
race of flowers 



H 



POEMS OF NATURE 



A.re lying in their lowly heds, -with the fair 

and good of ours. 
rJie rain is falling where they lie; but the 

cold November rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely 

ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, Uiey per- 
ished long ago, 

And the brier-rose and the orchis died aniid 
the summer glow ; 

But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster 
in the wood, 

And the yellow sun -flower by the brook in 
autumn beauty stood. 

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, 
as falls the plague on men. 

And the brightness of their smile was gone, 
from upland, glade, and glen. 

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as 

still such days will come. 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their 

winter home ; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, 

though all the trees are still. 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters 

of the rill, 
The south wind searches for the flowers 

whose fragrance late he bore, 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by 

the stream no more. 

And then I think of one who in her youthful 

beauty died. 
The fair meek blossom that ^rew r^p and 

faded by my side. 
[n the cold moist earth we laid her, when the 

forests cast the leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely should have 

a life so brief; 
Yet not unmeet it was that one like that 

young friend of ours, 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with 

the flowers. William Cullen Bryant. 



TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUM^IER. 

'T IS the last rose of Summer 

Left blooming alone ; 
All her lovely companions 

Are faded and gone ; 



No flower of her Irindred, 

No rosebud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes. 

Or give sigh for sigh ! 

I '11 not leave thee, thou lone oiie, 

To pine on the stem ; 
Since the lovely are sleeping. 

Go, sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed 
Where thy mates of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may I follow, 

When friendships decay, 
And from Love's shining circle 

The gems di^op away! 
When true hearts he withered, 

And fond ones are flown. 
Oh ! who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone ? 

Thomas Moouii 



i 



THE HUNTER OF THE PRAmiEb: 

Ay, this is fi^eedom — these pure skies 

Were never stained with village smoke ; 
The fragrant wind, that through them flies, 

Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroki: 
Here, with my rifle and my steed, 

And her who left the world for me, 
I plant me where the red deer feed 

In the green desert— and am free. 

For here the fair savannas know 

No barriers in the bloomy grass; 
Wlierever breeze of heaven may blow, 

Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass. 
In pastures, measureless as air. 

The bison is my noble game ; 
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear 

The branches, falls before my aim. 

Mine are the river-fowl that scream 

From the long stripe of waving sedge ; 
The bear that marks my weapon's gleam 

Hides vainly in the forest's edge; 
In vain the she- wolf stands at bay ;• 

The brinded catamount, that Hes 
High in the boughs to watch his prey, 

Even in the act of springing dies. 



I 



THE HUNTER'S SONG. 



95 



With what free growth the ehn and plane 

Fhng their huge arms across my way — 
Gray, old, and cumbered with a train 

Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray ! 
Free stray the lucid streams, and find 

Xo taint in these fresh lawns and shades ; 
Fi-ee spring the flowers that scent the wind 

Where never scythe has swept the glades. 

Alone the fire, when frost- winds sere 

The heavy herbage of the ground. 
Gathers his annual harvest here — 

With roaring like the battle's sound, 
And hurrying flames that sweep the plain, 

And smoke-streams gushing up the sky. 
\ meet the flames with flames again. 

And at my door they cower and die. 

Here, from dim woods, the aged Past 

Speaks solemnly ; and I behold 
The boundless Future in the vast 

And lonely river, seaward rolled. 
Who feeds its founts with rain and dew ? 

Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass, 
And trains the bordering vines who-e blue 

Bright clusters tempt me as I pass \ 

Broad are these streams — my steed obeys. 

Plunges, and bears me through the tide : 
Wide are these woods — I thread the maze 

Of giant stems, nor ask a guide. 
I hunt till day's last glimmer dies 

O'er woody vale and grassy height ; 
And kind the voice and glad the eyes 

That welcome my return at night. 

William Cullen Bxyant. 



AIY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLAIN^DS. 

My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not 

here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasiug the 

deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
M"y heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the 

North, 
The birth-place of valor, the country of worth ; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove. 
The hills of the Hitrlilands for ever I love. 



Farewell to the mountains high covered with 

snow ; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys 

below ; 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging 

woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring 

floods. 
My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not 

here. 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the 

deer ; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 

Robert Bi:rn6. 



THE HUNTER'S SONG. 

Rise ! Sleep no more ! 'T is a noble morn. 
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn. 
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten 

hound. 
Under the steaming, steaming ground. 
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by. 
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky ! 
Our horses are ready and steady. — So, ho ! 
I 'm gone, like a dart from the Tartar's bow. 
Rar^ harh ! — Who calleth the maiden Morn 
From Iter sleep in the woods and tlie stubhle 

corn f 

The horn^ — the horn! 
The merry^ sweet ring of the hunter'^s horn. 

Now, through the copse where the tox is 

found. 
And over the stream at a mighty bound, 
And over the high lands, and over tlie low, 
O'er farrows, o'er meadows, the hunters gol 
Away ! — as a hawk flies full at his prey, 
So flieth the hunter, away, — away ! 
From the burst at the cover till set of sun, 
When the red fox dies, and — the day is done 
Earh^ harlc! — What sound on the xcind ui 

home f 
^Tis the conquering voice of the hunterh horn: 

The horn^ — the horn ! 
The merry ^ told voice of the hunter's horn. 



ye 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Sound ! Sound the horn ! To the hunter good 
What's the gully deep or the roaring flood? 
Right oyer he bounds, as the wild stag hounds, 
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds. 
Oh, what delight can a mortal lack, 
When he once is firm on his horse's hack, 
With his stirrups short, and his snafHe strong, 
And the blast of the horn for his morning 
song? 

Karlc^ Jiarkl—JS'ow^ home! and dream till 

morn 
Of the lold^ sweet sound of the hunter'^s horn! 

The horny — the horn ! 
Oh^ the sound of all sounds is the hunter'' s horn! 
Baret Cornwall. 



TO AUTUMN. 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun! 
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
With fruit the vines that round the thatch- 
eaves run — 
To bend with apples the mossed cottage trees. 
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core — 
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel 
shells 
With a sweet kernel — to set budding, more 
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
Until they think warm days will never cease. 
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their 
clammy cells. 

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? 

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; 
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, 
Drowsed with tlie fume of poppies, while 
thy hook 
Spares the next swath and all its twined 
flowers ; 
And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep 
Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 
Or by a cider-press, with patient look. 
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by 
hours. 



Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where 

are they ? 

Think not of them — thou hast thy music 

too : 

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; 

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 

Among the river sallows, borne aloft 

Or sinking, as the light wind lives or dies ; 

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly 

bourn ; 

Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble 

soft 

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft. 

And gathering swallows twitter in the 

skies. 

John Keatb. 



AUTUMN— A DIRGE. 

The warm sun is failing ; the bleak wind ir^ 

wailing ; 
The bare boughs are sighing; the pale flower^, 
are dying ; 

And the Year 
On the earth, her death-bed, in shroud of 
leaves dead. 

Is lying. 
Come, months, come away, 
From November to May ; 
In your saddest array 
Follow the bier 
Of the dead, cold Year, 
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. 

The chill rain is falling ; the nipt worm is 

crawling ; 
The rivers are swelling ; the thunder is knell- 
ing 

For the Year ; 
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizardy 
each gone 

To his dwelling; 
Come, months, come away ; 
Put on white, black, and gray ; 
Let your light sisters play — 
Ye, follow the bier 
Of the dead, cold Year, 
And make her grave green with tear on tear 
Percy Bysshe Shelley 



AUTUMN. 



97 



AUTUMR 

The Autumn is old ; 
The sere leaves are flying ; 
He hath gathered up gold, 
And now he is dying : 
Old age, hegin sighing ! 

The vintage is ripe ; 
The harvest is heaping ; 
But some that have sowed 
Have no riches for reaping :— 
Poor wretch, fall a-weeping I 

The year's in the wane; 
There is nothing adorning ; 
The night has no eve, 
And the day has no morning ; 
Cold winter gives warning. 

The rivers run chill ; 
The red sun is sinking; 
And I am grown old, 
And life is fast shrinking ; 
Here's enow for sad thinking ! 

Thomas Hood. 



THE LATTER RAIK 

The latter rain, — it falls in anxious haste 
Upon the sun-dried fields and branches bare. 
Loosening wHth searching drops the rigid 

waste 
As if it would each root's lost strength repair ; 
But not a blade grows green as in the Spring ; 
No swelling twig puts forth its thickening 

leaves ; 
The robins only mid the harvests sing. 
Pecking the grain that scatters from the 

sheaves ; 
riie rain falls still, — the fruit all ripened 

drops. 
It pierces chestnut-burr and walnut-shell ; 
The furrowed fields disclose the yellow crops ; 
Each bursting pod of talents used can tell ; 
And all that once received the early rain 
Declare to man it was not sent in vain. 

-_ Jones Vert. 



AUTUMN'S SIGHING. 

Autumn's sighing, 
Moaning, dying; 
Clouds are flying 

On like steeds ; 
While their shadows 
O'er the meadows 
Walk like widows 

Decked in weeds. 

Red leaves trailing, 
FaU unfailing. 
Dropping, sailing, 

From the wood, 
That, unpliant, 
Stands defiant. 
Like a giant 

Dropping blood. 

Winds are swelling 
Round our dwelling, 
All day telling 

Us their woe ; 
And at vesper 
Frosts grow crisper, 
As they whisper 

Of the snow. 

From th' unseen land 

Frozen inland, 

Down from Greenland 

Winter glides. 
Shedding lightness 
Like the brightness 
When moon-whiteness 

Fills the tides. 

Now bright Pleasure's 
Sparkling measures 
With rare treasures 

Overflow ! 
With this gladness 
Comes what sadness ! 
Oh, what madness 1 

Oh, what woe I 

Even merit 
May inherit 
Some bare garret, 
Or the ffround : 



:>'« 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Or, a worse ill, 
Beg ft '^lorsel 

At some door sill, 
Like a hound ! 

Storms are trailing ; 
Winds are wailing, 
Howling, railing 

At eacli door. 
'Midst this trailing. 
Howling, railing, 
List the wailing 

Of the poor ! 

Thomas Buchanan Eead. 



THE IVY GREEK 

Oil! a dainty plant is the Ivy green. 

That creepeth o 'er ruins old ! 
Of right choice food are his meals I ween, 

In his cell so lone and cold. 
The walls must be crumbled, the stones de- 
cayed. 
To pleasure his dainty whim ; 
And the mouldering dust that years have 
made 
Is a merry meal for him. 

Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no 
wings. 
And a staunch old heart has he ! 
Sow closely he twineth, how tight he clings 

To his friend, the huge oak tree ! 
Ajid slyly he traileth along the ground. 

And his leaves he gently waves, 
^nd he joyously twines and hugs around 
The rich mould of dead men's graves. 
Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 

Whole ages have fled, and their works de- 
cayed. 

And nations scattered been ; 
But the stout old Ivy shall never facie 

From its hale and hearty green. 



The brave old plant m its lonely days 

Shall fatten updn the past ; 
For the stateliest building man can raise 
Is the Ivy's food at last. 

Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 

Charles .DicKKNa> 



NOVEMBER. 

The mellow year is hasting to its close ; 
The little birds have almost sung their last, 
Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast — 
That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows ; 
The patient beauty of the scentless rose. 
Oft with the morn's hoar crystal quaintly 

glassed. 
Hangs, a pale mourner for the summer past, 
And makes a little summer where it grows. 
In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day 
The dusky waters shudder as they shine ; 
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling wa> 
Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks definti 
And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array 
Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy twine 
Hartley Coleribou 



GROXGAR HILL. 

Sn.EXT nymph, with curious eyo I 
Who, the purple evening, lie 
On the mountain's lonely van, 
Beyond the noise of busy man — 
Painting fair the form of things, 
While the yellow linnet sings, 
Or the tuneful nightingale 
Charms the forest with her tale — 
Come, with all thy various hues, 
Come, and aid thy sister Muse, 
ISTow, while Phoebus, riding high. 
Gives lustre to the land and sky, 
Grongar Hill invites my song — 
Draw the landscape bright and strong ; 
Grongar, in whose mossy cells 
Sweetly musing Quiet dwells ; 
Grongar, in whose silent shade, 
For the modest Muses made. 



GRONGAR HILL. 



99 



So oft 1 have, the evening still, 

At the fountain of a rill. 

Sat upon a flowery bed. 

With my hand beneath my head, 

While strayed my eyes o 'er Towy's flood. 

Over mead and over wood. 

From house to house, from hill to hill, 

Till Contemplation had her fill. 

About his checkered sides I wind. 
And leave his brooks and meads behind, 
And groves and grottoes where I lay. 
And vistas shooting beams of day. 
^ide and wider spreads the vale. 
As circles on a smooth canal. 
The mountains round, unhappy fate ! 
Sooner or later, of all height, 
Withdraw their summits from the skies. 
And lessen as the others rise. 
Still the prospect wider spreads. 
Adds a thousand woods and meads ; 
Still it widens, widens still. 
And sinks the newly-risen hill. 

jSTow I gain the mountain's brow ; 
What a landscape lies below ! 
No clouds, no vapors intervene ; 
But the gay, the open scene 
Does the face of Mature show 
[n all the hues of heaven's bow ! 
And, swelling to embrace the light. 
Spreads around beneath the sight. 

Old castles on the cliffs arise, 
Proudly towering in the skies; 
Rushing from the woods, the spires 
Seem from hence ascending fires ; 
Half his beams Apollo sheds 
On the yellow mountain-heads 
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks. 
And glitters on the broken rocks. 

Below me trees unnumbered rise. 
Beautiful in various dyes : 
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, 
The yellow beech, the sable yew. 
The slender fir that taper grows. 
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs ; 
And beyond, the purple grove, 
tiaunt of Phyllis, queen of love ! 
Gaudy as the opening dawn. 
Lies a long and level lawn. 
On which a dark hill, steep and high, 
Holds and charms the wandering eye ; 
Oeep are his feet in Towy's flood: 



His sides are clothed with waving worxl : 
And ancient towers crown his brow. 
That cast an awful look below ; 
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps. 
And with her arms from falling keeps ; 
So both, a safety from the wind 
In mutual dependence find. 
'T is now the raven's bleak abode ; 
'T is now th' apartment of the toad ; 
And there the fox securely feeds ; 
And there the poisonous adder breeds, 
Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds ; 
While, ever and anon, there fall 
Huge heaps of hoary, mouldered wall. 
Yet Time has seen — that lifts the low 
And level lays the lofty brow — 
Has seen this broken pile complete, 
Big with the vanity of state. 
But transient is the smile of Fate ! 
A little rule, a little sway, 
A sunbeam in a winter's day, 
Is all the proud and mighty have 
Between the cradle and the gravo- 
And see the rivers, how they run 

Through woods and meads, in shade and sun 

Sometimes swift, sometimes slow - - 

Wave succeeding wave, they g-^ 

A various journey to the deep. 

Like human life to endless sleep ! 

Thus is Nature's vesture wrought 

To instruct our wandering thought ; 

Thus she dresses green and gay 

To disperse our cares away. 
Ever charming, ever new, 

When will the landscape tire the view 1 

The fountain's fall, the river's flow ; 

The woody valleys, warm and low ; 

The windy summit, wild and high, 

Roughly rushing on the sky ; 

The pleasant seat, the ruined tower, 

The naked rock, the shady bower ; 

The town and village, dome and ftxrm— 

Each gives each a double charm, 

As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. 
See on the mountain's southern side. 

Where the prospect opens wide, 

Where the evening gilds the tide, 

IIow close and small the hedges lie; 

What streaks of meadow cross the eyef 

A step, methinks, may pass the stream, 

So little distant dangers seem ; 



100 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



So we mistake the Future's face, 
Eyed through Hope^s deluding glass ; 
As yon summits, soft and fair, 
Clad in colors of the air, 
Which to those who journey near. 
Barren, hrawn, and rough appear ; 
Still we tread the same coarse way — 
Tlie present 's still a cloudy day. 

Oh may I with myself agree. 
And never covet what I see ; 
Content me with an humble shade. 
My passions tamed, my wishes laid ; 
For while our wishes wildly roll, 
We banish quiet from the soul. 
'T is thus the busy beat the air, 
And misers gather wealth and care. 

N"ow, even now, my joys run high. 
As on the mountain turf I lie ; 
While the wanton Zephyr sings, 
And in the vale perfumes his wings ; 
While the waters murmur deep ; 
While the shepherd charms his sheep ; 
While the birds unbounded fly. 
And with music fill the sky, 
NTow, even now, my joys run high. 

Be full, ye courts ; be great who will ; 
Search for Peace with all your skill ; 
Open wide the lofty door. 
Seek her on the marble floor. 
In vain you search ; she is not here ! 
In vain you search the domes of Care ! 
Grass and flowers Quiet treads, 
On the meads and mountain-heads. 
Along with Pleasure — close allied. 
Ever by each other's side ; 
And often, by the murmuring rill, 
[Tears the thrush, while all is still 
Within the groves of Grongar Hill. 

John Dyer. 



FOLDESTG THE FLOCKS. 

SnEPHERDS all, and maidens fair. 
Fold your flocks up ; for the air 
'Gins to thicken, and the sun 
Already his great course hath run. 
See the dew-drops, how they kiss 
Every little flower that is : 



Hanging on their velvet heads, 

Like a string of crystal beads. 

See the heavy clouds low falling 

And bright Hesperus down calling 

The dead night from under ground ; 

At whose rising, mists unsound, 

Damps and vapors, fly apace. 

And hover o 'er the smiling face 

Of these p«astures ; where they come, 

Striking dead both bud and bloom. 

Therefore from such danger lock 

Every one his loved flock ; 

And let your dogs lie loose without, 

Lest the wolf come as a scout 

From the mountain, and ere day. 

Bear a lamb or kid away ; 

Or the crafty, thievish fox. 

Break upon your simple flocks. 

To secure yourself from these. 

Be not too secure in ease ; 

So shall you good shepherds prove, 

And deserve your master's lore. 

IS'ow, good night ! may sweetest slumbers 

And soft silence fall in numbers 

On your eyelids. So farewell : 

Thus I end my evening knell. 

BeAFMONT and FLETCHEiL 



BUGLE SO^G. 

The splendor falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story ; 
The long light shakes across the lakes, 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow ! set the wild echoes fly- 
ing ; 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes — dying, dying, 
dying ! 

Oh hark, oh hear! how thin and clear. 

And thinner, clearer, further going ! 
O sweet and far, from clifl" and scar. 
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
Blow ! let us hear the purple glens reply- 
ing ; 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes — dying, dying, 
dying; ! 



EVENING. 



iOi 



O love, they die in yon rich sky ; 

They faint on hill or field or river : 

Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 

And grow for ever and for ever. 

Blow, hugle, blow ! set the wild echoes flying, 

And answer, echoes, answer — dying, dying, 

dying ! 

Alfred Teni^tson. 



THE EVEISTING WIl^D. 

Spirit that breathest through my lattice ! thou 
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day ! 
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my 
brow ; 
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 
liiding all day the wild blue weaves till now, 
Roughening their crests, and scattering 
high their spray, 
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the 
sea! 



Nor I alone — a thousand bosoms round 
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ; 

And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ; 

And languishing to hear thy welcome sound. 
Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the 
sight. 

Go forth into the gathering shade ; go forth — 

God's blessing breathed upon the fainting 
earth ! 

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest ; 
Curl the still waters, bright with stars ; and 
rouse 
The wide, old wood from his majestic rest. 

Summoning, from the innumerable boughs. 
The strange deep harmonies that haunt his 
breast. 
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly 
bows 
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pnss, 
^nd where tlie overshadowing branches sweep 
the ft-rasi^. 



Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly swa) 

The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone ; 

That they who near the churchyard willows 

stray, 

^ And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, 

May think of gentle souls that passed away, 

Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, 
Sent forth from heaven among the sons of 

men. 
And gone into the boundless heaven again. 

The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child 
asleep, 

And dry the moistened curls that overspread 
His temples, while his breathing growe 
more deep ; 

And they who stand about the sick man's bed 
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, 

And softly part his curtains to allow 

Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 

Go — but the circle of eternal change. 

Which is the life of Nfature, shall restore. 
With sounds and scents from all thy mighty 
range, 
Thee to thy birth-place of the deep once 
more. 
Sweet odors in the sea air, sweet and strange, 
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the 
shore ; 
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 
He hears the rustling leaf and running streanu 
William Cullen Brtam. 



EVENING. 

Sweet after showers, ambrosial air. 
That rollest from the gorgeous gloom 
Of evening over brake and bloom 

And meadow, slowly breathing bare 

The round of space, and rapt below, 
Throu2:h all the dewy-tasselled wood, 
And shadowing down the horned flood 

In ripples — fan my brows and blow 



302 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



riie fever from my cheek, and sigh 
The full new life that feeds thy breath 
Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, 

III brethren, let the fancy fly 

From belt to belt of crimson seas. 
On leagues of odor streaming far. 
To where, in yonder orient star, 

A hundred spirits whisper " Peace 1 '*' 

Alfred Tennyson. 



ODE TO EYEXmO. 

If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest 
ear, 
Like thy own brawling springs. 
Thy springs, and dying gales — 

ITymph reserved, while now the bright- 
haired Sun 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 

With brede ethereal w^ove. 

Overhang his wavy bed. 

Now air is hushed, save where the weak- 
eyed bat 
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern 
wing; 
Or where the beetle winds 
His small but sullen horn, 

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path. 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum ; 
iSTow teach me, maid composed, 
To breathe some softened strain, 

Whose numbers, stealing through thy dark- 
ening vale, 
May not unseemly with its stillness suit ; 

As, musing slow, T hail 

Thy genial, loved return! 

For when thy folding star arising shows 
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp '' 

The fragrant Hours, und elves 

Who slept m buds the day, 



And many a nymph who wreathes her browt 

with sedge, 
And sheds the freshening dew ; and, lovcliei 
still, 
The pensive pleasures sweet, 
Prepare thy shadowy car. 

Then let me rove some wild and heath} 

scene ; 
Or find some ruin, 'midst its dreary dells, 

Whose walls more awful nod 

By thy religious gleams. 

Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, 
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 
That, from the mountain's side, 
Yiews wilds, and swelling floods. 

And hamlets brown, and dim discovered 

spires ; 
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er 
all 
Thy dewy fingers draw 
The gradual dusky veil. 

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft 

he wont. 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! 

While Summer loves to sport 

Beneath thy lingering light ; 

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; 
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, 

Affrights thy shrinking train. 

And rudely rends thy robes ; 

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule. 
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smilinji 
Peace, 
Thy gentlest influence own. 
And love thy favorite name ! 

William ColliniI 



TO THE EYENmO STAR. 

Stae that bringest home the bee. 
And sett'st the weary laborer free ! 
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou. 

That send'st it from above, 
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow 

Are sweet as hers we love. 



EYENING. 



108 



Come to the luxuriant skies, 
Whilst the landscape's odors rise, 
Whilst, far off, lowing herds are heard, 

And songs when toil is done. 
From cottages whose smoke unstirred 

Curls yellow in the sun. 

Star of love's soft interviews. 
Parted lovers on thee muse ; 
Their rememhrancer in Heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art. 
Too delicious to be riven. 

By absence, from the heart. 

Thomas Campbell. 



EYEOTNG IN THE ALPS. 

Come, golden Evening ! in the west 

Enthrone the storm-dispelling sun. 
And let the triple rainbow rest 

O'er all the mountain-tops. 'Tis done ;- 
The tempest ceases ; bold and bright. 

The rainbow shoots from hill to hill ; 
Down sinks the sun ; on presses night ; — 

Mont Blanc is lovely still ! 

There take thy stand, my spirit ; — spread 

The world of shadows at thy feet ; 
And mark how calmly, overhead. 

The stars, like saints in glory, meet. 
While hid in solitude sublime, 

Methinks I muse on ISTature's tomb, 
And hear the passing foot of Time 

Step through the silent gloom. 

All in a moment, crash on crash, 

From precipice to precipice 
An avalanche's ruins dash 

Down to the nethermost abyss, 
Invisible ; the ear alono 

Pursues the uproar till it dies ; 
Echo to echo, groan for groan, 

From deep to deep replies. 

Silence again the darkness seals. 
Darkness that may be felt ; — but soon 

The silver-clouded east reveals 
Tlie midnight spectre of the moon. 



In half-eclipse she lifts her horn. 
Yet o'er the host of heaven supreme 

Brings the faint semblance of a morn. 
With her awakening beam. 

Ah ! at her touch, these Alpine heigh ta 

Unreal mockeries appear ; 
With blacker shadows, ghastlier lights, 

Emerging as she climbs the sphere ; 
A crowd of apparitions pale ! 

I hold my breath in chill suspense — 
They seem so exquisitely frail — 

Lest they should vanish hence. 

I breathe again, I freely breathe ; 

Thee, Leman's Lake, once more I trace, 
Like Dian's crescent far beneath, 

As beautiful as Dian's face : 
Pride of the land that gave me birth ! 

All that thy waves reflect I love. 
Where heaven itself, brought down to eartlt 

Looks fairer than above. 

Safe on thy banks again I stray ; 

The trance of poesy is o'er. 
And I am here at dawn of day. 

Gazing on mountains as before. 
Where all the strange mutations w^rought 

Were magic feats of my own mind ; 
For, in that fairy land of thought, 

Whate'er I seek, I find. 

Yet, ye everlasting hills ! 

Buildings of God, not made with hands. 
Whose word performs w^hate'er He wills, 

W^hose word, though ye shall perish, stands: 
Can there be eyes that look on you, 

Till tears of rapture make them dim, 
Kor in his works the Maker view, 

Then lose his works in Him ? 

By me, when I behold Him not, 

Or love Him not when I behold, 
Be all I ever knew forgot — 

My pulse stand still, my heart grow cold ; 
Transformed to ice, 'twixt earth and sky, 

On yonder cliff my form be seen, 
That all may ask, but none reply. 

What my offence hath been. 

James MoNTQOMTtRY. 



i04 



POEMS OF MATURE. 



TO OTGHT. 

Swiftly walk over the western w'ave, 

Spirit of night ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave, 
Where, all the long and lone daylight. 
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear 
Which make thee terrible and dear — 

Swift be thy flight ! 

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray. 

Star-inwrought ; 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, 
Kiss her until she be wearied out ; 
Then wander o'er city and sea and land, 
Touching all with thine opiate wand — 

Come, long-sought! 

When I arose and saw the dawn, 

I sighed for thee ; 
When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
Ajid noon lay heavy on flower and tree, 
And the weary Day turned to her rest, 
Lingering like an unloved guest, 

I sighed for thee ? 

Thy brother Death came, and cried, 

"Wouldstthoume?" 
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy- eyed, 

Murmm^ed like a noontide bee, 
•^ Shall I nestle near thy side ? 
Wouldst thou me ? " — And I replied, 

"ISTo, not thee!" 

Death will come when thou art dead. 

Soon, too soon — 
Sleep will come when thou art fled : 
Of neither w^ould I ask the boon 
I ask of thee, beloved Night — 
Swift be thine approaching flight. 

Come soon, soon ! 

Percy Bysshb Shklluy. 



TO cy:^thia. 

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, 
Now the sun is laid to sleep, 

Seated in thy silver chair. 

State in wonted manner keep : 

Hesperus entreats thy light, 
Goddess excellently bright ! 



Earth, let not thy envious shade 

Dare itself to interpose ; 
Cynthia's shining orb was made 

Heaven to clear when day did close; 
Bless us, then, with wished sight, 
Goddess excellently bright ! 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 
And thy crystal-shining quiver ; 

Give unto thy flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever ; 

Thou that makest a day of night, 

Goddess excellently bright ! 

Ben Jonbon 



MOONEISE. 

What stands upon the highland ? 

WTiat walks across the rise. 
As though a starry island 

Were sinking down the skies ? 

What makes the trees so golden ? 

What decks the mountain side, 
Like a veil of silver folden 

Bound the w^hite brow of a bride . 

The magic moon is breaking. 
Like a cpnqueror, from the east, 

The waiting world awaking 
To a golden fairy feast. 

She works, with touch ethereal, 
By changes strange to see. 

The cypress, so funereal. 
To a lightsome fairy tree ; 

Black rocks to marble turning, 

Like palaces of kings ; 
On ruin windows burning, 

A festal glory flings ; 

The desert halls uplighting. 
While falling shadows glance, 

Like courtly crowds uniting 
For the banquet or the dance ; 

With ivory wand she numbers 

The stars along the sky ; 
And breaks the billows' slumbers 

With a love-glance of her eye; 



THE HARVEST MOON. 



106 



Along the cornfields dances, 

Brings bloom upon the slieaf ; 
From tree to tree she glances, 

And touches leaf by leaf; 

Wakes birds that sleep in shadows ; 

Through their half-closed eyelids gleams; 
With her white torch through the meadows 

Lights the shy deer to the streams. 

The magic moon is breaking, 
Like a conqueror, from the east. 

And the joyous world partaking 
Of her golden fairy feast. 

Ernest Jones. 



SONIl^T. 

The crimson Moon, uprising from the sea. 
With large dehght foretells the harvest near. 
Ye shepherds, now prepare your melody. 
To greet the soft appearance of her sphere ! 

And hke a page, enamored of her train, 
The star of evening glimmers in the west : 
nion raise, ye shepherds, your observant 

strain, 
That so of the Great Shepherd here are blest ! 

Our fields are full with the time-ripened grain, 
Our vireyards with the purple clusters swell; 
Her golden splendor glhnmers on the main, 
And vales and mountains her bright glory 

tell. 
Then sing, ye shepherds ! for the time is come 
When we must bring the enriched harvest 

home. 

LOKD TnURLOW. 



TO THE HARVEST MOOJST. 

Cum ruit Imbriferum ver: 
Spicea jam campis cum messis inliorruit, et cum 
Frumenta in viridi stipula lactentia turgeiit. 

Cancta tibi Cererem pubcs agrestis adorct. 

YlRGIL. 

Moon of Harvest, herald mild 

Of Plenty, rustic labor's child. 

Hail ! oh hail ! I greet thy beam. 

As soft it trembles o'er the stream. 

And gilds the straw-thatched hamlet wide, 

Where Innocence and Peace reside ! 



'Tis thou that gladd'st with joy the rustic 
throng. 

Promptest the tripping dance, the exhilarat- 
ing song. 

"Moon of Harvest, I do love 

O'er the uplands now to rove. 

While thy modest ray serene 

Gilds the wide surrounding scene ; 

And to watch thee riding high 

In the blue vault of the sky, 
Where no thin vapor intercepts thy ray. 
But in unclouded majesty thou walkest on 
thy way. 

Pleasing 't is, modest Moon ! 
IsTow the night is at her noon, 
'Keath thy sway to musing lie, 
While around the zephyrs sigh. 
Fanning soft the sun- tanned wheat, 
Ripened by the summer's heat ; 
Picturing all the rustic's joy 
When boundless plenty greets his eye, 

And thinking soon, 

modest Moon ! 
How many a female eye will roam 

Along the road, 

To see the load, 
The last dear load of harvest-home. 

Storms and tempests, floods and rains. 

Stern despoilers of the plains. 

Hence, away, the season flee. 

Foes to hght-heart jollity ! 

May no winds careering high 

Drive the clouds along the sky, 
But may all ITature smile with aspect boon. 
When in the heavens thou show'st thy face, 
harvest Moon ! 

'ISTcath yon lowly roof he lies. 
The husbandman, with sleep-sealed eyos : 
He dreams of crowded barns, and round 
The yard he hears the flail resound ; 
Oh ! may no hurricane destroy 
His visionary views of joy ! 
God of the winds ! oh, hear his humble prayer, 
And while the Moon of Harvest shines, thy 
blustering whirlwind spare. 

Sons of luxury, to you 

Leave I Sleep's dull poAver to woo ; 



100 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Press ye still the downy bed, 

While feverish dreams surround your head ; 

I will seek the woodland glade, 

Penetrate the thickest shade, 

"Wrapped in Contemplation's dreams, 

Musing hign on holy themes. 

While on the gale 

Shall softly sail 
Hie nightingale's enchanting tune, 

And oft my eyes 

Shall grateful rise 
To thee, the modest Harvest Moon ! 

Hexey Kirke White. 



OTGHT SOi^G. 

The moon is up in splendor. 
And golden stars attend her ; 

The heavens are calm and bright ; 
Trees cast a deepening shadow, 
And slowly off the meadow 

A mist is rising silver-white. 

Night's curtains now are closing 
Round half a world reposing 

In calm and holy trust. 
All seems one vast, still chamber, 
Where weary hearts remember 

No more the sorrows of the dust. 

Matthias Clattdixts. (German.) 
Translation of 0. T. Bkooks. 



TO OTGHT. 

Mysterious Night! when our first parent 

knew 
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, 
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame. 
This glorious canopy of light and blue ? 
Yet 'neath the curtain of translucent dew. 
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, 
Hesperus with the host of heaven came. 
And lo ! creation widened in man's view. 
Who could have thought such darkness lay 

concealed 
Within thy beams, Sun ! or who could find, 
While fly, and leaf, and insect lay revealed. 
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us 

blmdl 



Why do we, then, shun Death with anxious 

strife?— 
If Light can thus deceive, wherefore Dot Life ? 

Blanco Wnrm. 



SONG.— THE OWL. 

When cats run home and light is come, 

And dew is cold upon the ground. 
And the far-off stream is dumb. 
And the whirring sail goes round, 
And the whirring sail goes round ; 
Alone and warming his five wits, 
The white owl in the belfry sits. 

When merry milkmaids click the latch, 

And rarely smells the new-mown hay, 

And the cock hath sung beneath the thatcli 

Twice or thrice his roundelay, 

Twice or thrice his roundelay ; 

Alone and warming his five wits, 

The white owl in the belfry sits. 



SECOND SONG TO THE SAME, 

Thy tuwhits are lulled, I wot, 
Thy tuwhoos of yesternight, 
Which, upon the dai*k afloat. 
So took echo with delight, 
So took echo with delight. 

That her voice, untuneful grown. 
Wears all day a fainter tone. 

I would mock thy chaunt anew ; 

But I cannot mimic it ; 
Not a whit of thy tuwhoo. 
Thee to woo to thy tuwhit. 
Thee to woo to thy tuwhit. 
With a lengthened loud halloo, 
Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o. 

AlFEED TENNYSOIt 



THE OWL. 

While the moon, with sudden gle^, 
Through the clouds that cover her, 

Darts her light upon the stream, 
And the poplars gently stir ; 



A DOUBTING HEART. 



M)l 



Pleased I hear thy bodmg cry, 
Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky ! 
Sure thy notes are harmony. 

While the maiden, pale with care, 

Wanders to the lonely shade, 
Sighs her sorrows to the air, 

While the flowerets round her fade, — 
Shrinks to hear thy boding cry ; 
Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky. 
To her it is not harmony. 

While the wretch with mournful dole, 

Wrings his hands in agony, 
Praying for his brother's soul. 
Whom he pierced suddenly, — 
Shrinks to hear thy boding cry ; 
Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky, 
To him it is not harmony. 

Anonymous. 



. THE CRICKET. 

liTiTLE inmate, full of mirth. 
Chirping on my kitchen hearth, 
Wheresoe'er be thine abode 
Always harbinger of good. 
Pay me for thy warm retreat 
With a song more soft and sweet ; 
In return thou shalt receive 
Such a strain as I can give. 

Thus tny praise shall be expressed. 
Inoffensive, welcome guest ! 
While the rat is on the scout, 
And the mouse with curious snout, 
With what vermin else infest 
Every dish, and spoil the best ; 
Frisking thus before the fire. 
Thou hast all thy heart's desire. 

Though in voice and shape they be 
Formed as if akin to thee. 
Thou surpassest, happier far. 
Happiest grasshoppers that are ; 
Theirs is but a summer's song — 
Thine endures the winter long. 
Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear, 
Melody throughout the year. 

William Oowpke. 



TO A CBICKET. 

Voice of Summer, keen and shrill, 
Chirping round my winter fire, 
Of thy song I never tire. 
Weary others as they will ; 
For thy song with Summer's filled — 
Fnied with sunshine, filled with June ; 
Firelight echo of that noon 
Heard in fields when all is stilled 
In the golden liglit of May, 
Bringing scents of new-mown hay, 
Bees, and birds, and flowers away : 
Prithee, haunt my fireside still. 
Voice of Summer, keen and shrill ! 

WiLLLAM C. BeNNIMTL 



THE DEPARTURE OF THE SWALLOW 

And is the swallow gone ? 

Who beheld it? 

Which way sailed it ? 
Farewell bade it none ? 

Ko mortal saw it go : — 

But who doth hear 

Its summer cheer 
As it flitteth to and fro ? 

So the freed spirit flies ! 

From its surrounding clay 

It steals away 
Like the swallow from the skies. 

Whither? wherefore doth it go? 

'T is all unknown ; 

We feel alone 
That a void is left below. 

'WiLLi.vM Ho\rrpa 



A DOUBTmC HEART. 

Where are the swallows fled ? 

Frozen and dead 
Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore 
O doubting heart ! 
Far over purple seas, 
They wait, in sunny ease. 
The balmy southern breeze 
To bring them to their northern homes once 



108 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



Why must the flowers die ? 

Prisoned they lie 
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain. 
O doubting heart ! 
They only sleep below 
The soft white ermine snow 
While winter winds shall blow, 
To breathe and smile upon you soon again. 

The sun has hid its rajs 

These many days ; 
Will dreary hours never leave the earth ? 
doubting heart ! 
The stormy clouds on high 
Veil the same sunny sky 
That soon, for Spring is nigh, 
Shall wake the Summer into golden mirth. 

Fair hope is dead, and light 

Is quenched in night ; 
What sound can break the silence of despair \ 
O doubting heart ! 
The sky is overcast, 
Yet stars shall rise at last. 
Brighter for darkness past, 
And angels' silver voices stir the air. 

Adelaide Anne Peocter. 



FANCY. 



EvEE let the Fancy roam ; 

Pleasure never is at home : 

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth 

Like to bubbles Avhen rain pelteth ; 

Then let winged Fancy wander 

Through the thought still spread beyond her ; 

Open wide the mind's cage-door-— 

She '11 dart forth, and cloud ward soar. 

O sweet Fancy ! let her loose ! 

Summer's joys are spoilt by use, 

And the enjoying of the Spring 

Fades as does its blossoming. 

Autumn's red-lipped fruitage too. 

Blushing through the mist and dew, 

Cloys with tasting. What do then ? 

Sit thee by the ingle, when 

The sear faggot blazes bright, 

Spirit of a winter's night; 

When the soundless earth is muffled, 

A.nd the caked snow is shuffled 



From the ploughboy's heavy shoon ; 

WTien the Night doth meet the Noon 

In a dark conspiracy 

To banish Even from her sky. 

Sit thee there, and send abroad, 

With a mind self-overawed, 

Fancy, high- commissioned ; — eend her I 

She has vassals to attend her ; 

She vsriU bring, in spite of frost, 

Beauties that the earth hath lost ; — 

She will bring thee, all together. 

All dehghts of summer weather; 

All the buds and bells of May, 

From dewy sward or thorny spray ; 

All the heaped Autumn's wealth ;— 

With a still, mysterious stealth ; 

She will mix these pleasures up 

Like three fit wines in a cup, 

And thou shalt quaff it, — thou shalt heai' 

Distant harvest-carols clear — 

Eustle of the reaped corn ; 

Sweet birds antheming the morn ; 

And, in the same moment — ^hark! 

'T is the early April lark, — 

Or the rooks, with busy caw. 

Foraging for sticks and straw. 

Thou shalt, at one glance, behold 

The daisy and the marigold ; 

White-plumed lihes, and the first 

Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst ; 

Shaded hyacinth, alway 

Sapphire queen of the mid-May ; 

And every leaf, and every flower 

Pearled with the self-same shower. 

Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep 

Meagre from its celled sleep : 

And the snake, all winter-thin. 

Cast on sunny bank its skin ; 

Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see 

Hatching in the hawthorn-tree. 

When the hen-bird's wing doth rest 

Quiet on her mossy nest ; 

Then the hurry and alarm 

When the bee-hive casts its swarm ; 

Acorns ripe down-pattering 

While the autumn breezes sing. 

Oh sweet Fancy ! let her loose ! 
Every thing is spoilt by use ; 
Where 's the cheek that doth not fade. 



1 
1 



WINTER FANCIES. 



109 



Too much gazed at ? Where 's the maid 

Whose lip mature is ever new ? 

Where 's the eye, however blue, 

Doth not weary? Where 's the face 

One would meet in every place ? 

Where 's the voice, however soft, 

One would hear so very oft ! 

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth 

Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. 

Let, then, winged Fancy find 

Thee a mistress to thy mind : 

Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter 

Ere the god of Torment taught her 

How to frown and how to chide ; 

With a waist and with a side 

White as Hebe's when her zone 

Slipt its golden clasp, and down 

Fell her kirtle to her feet. 

While she held the goblet sweet, 

And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh 

Of the Fancy's silken leash ; 

Quickly break her prison-string, 

And such joys as these she '11 bring. — 

Let the winged Fancy roam ; 

Pleasure never is at home. 

John Keats. 



THE WINDY NIGHT. 

Alow and aloof. 

Over the roof, 
How the midnight tempests howl ! 
With a dreary voice, like the dismal tune 
Of wolves that bay at the desert moon ; 

Or whistle and shriek 

Through limbs that creak. 

"Tu-who! Tu-whit!" 

They cry, and flit, 
"Tu-whit! Tu-who!" like the solemn owl I 

Alow and aloof. 

Over the roof. 
Sweep the moaning winds amain, 

And wildly dash 

The elm and ash, 
Ohittering on the window sash . 

With a clatter and patter 

Like hail and rain. 

That well nigh shatter 

The dusky pane ! 



Alow and aloof, 

Over the roof. 
How the tempests swell and roar ! 

Though no foot is astir. 

Though the cat and the cur 
Lie dozing along the kitchen floor, 

There are feet of air 

On every stair — 

Through every hall ! 

Through each gusty door 

There 's a jostle and bustle. 

With a silken rustle. 
Like the meeting of guests at a festivid I 

Alow and aloof. 

Over the roof. 
How the stormy tempests swell ! 

And make the vane 

On the spire complain ; 
They heave at the steeple with might and maiii, 

And burst and sweep 

Into the belfry, on the bell ! 
They smite it so hard, and they smite it so well, 

That the sexton tosses his arms m sleep, 
And dreams he is ringing a funeral knell ! 

Thomas Burn in an Esad. 



THE MIDNIGHT WIND. 

Mournfully! oh, mournfully 

This midnight wind doth sigh. 
Like some sweet, plaintive melody 

Of ages long gone by ! 
It speaks a tale of other years, — 

Of hopes that bloomed to die, — 
Of sunny smiles that set in tears. 

And loves that mouldering lie! 

Mournfully ! oh, mournfully 

This midnight wind doth moan I 
It stirs some chord of memory 

In each dull, heavy tone ; 
The voices of the much-loved dead 

Seem floating thereupon, — 
All, all my fond heart cherished 

Ere death had made it lone. 

Mournfully! oh, mournfully 
This midnight wind doth swell 

With its quaint, pensive minstrelsy, - 
Hope's passionate farewell 



no 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



To the dreamy joys of early years, 

Ere yet grief's canker fell 
On the heart's bloom, — ay ! well may tears 

Start at that parting knell ! 

William Motheewell. 



BLOW, BLOW, THOU W^TEPw WIOT). 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind — 
Thou art not so unkind 

As man's ingratitude ; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen. 

Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green 

holly: 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere 
folly; 
Then, heigh ho ! the holly ^ 
This life is most jolly ! 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sJiy — 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot ; 
Though thou the waters warp. 
Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remembered not. 
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green 

holly: 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere 
folly; 
Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
This life is most jolly ! 

SHAiCESPEAEE. 



THE HOLLY-TREE. 

O READER ! hast thou ever stood to see 

The holly-tree ! 
The eye that contemplates it well, perceives 

Its glossy leaves 
Ordered by an intelligence so wise 
As might confound the atheist's sophistries. 

Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen 

Wrinkled and keen ; 
N'o grazing cattle, through their prickly round. 

Can reach to wound ; 
But as they grow where nothing is to fear. 
Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves 
appear. 



I love to \iew these things with curious eyes. 

Ajid moralize ; 
And in this wisdom of the holly-tree 

Can emblems see 
Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasaii? 

rhyme. 
One which may profit in the after-timo. 

Thus, though abroad, perchance, I miglit 
appear 

Harsh and austere — 
To those who on my leisure would inti^ude. 

Reserved and rude ; 
G-entle at home amid my friends I 'd be, 
Like the high leaves upon the holly-tree. 

And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know. 

Some harshness show. 
All vain asperities I, day by day. 

Would wear away. 
Till the smooth temper of my age should be 
Like the high leaves upon the hoUy-tree. 

And as, when all the summer trees are se€H 

So bright and green. 
The holly-leaves their fadeless hues display 

Less bright than they ; 
But when the bare and wintry woods we sec, 
What then so cheerful as the holly-tree ? 

So, serious should my youth appear among 

The thoughtless throng ; 
So would I seem, amid the young and gay, 

More grave than they; 
That in my age as cheerful I might be 
As the green winter of the holly -tree. 

Robert Soutiiey 



WOODS IX WmTER. 

Whex T\inter winds are piercing chill, 

And through the hawthorn blows the gale 

With solemn feet I tread the hill 
That overbrows the lonely vale. 

O'er the bare upland, and away 

Througli the long reach of desert woods. 

The embracing simbeams chastely play, 
And gladden these deep solitudes 



WINTER. 



Ill 



I 



Where, twisted round the barren oak, 
The summer vine in beauty clung, 

And summer winds the stillness broke, — 
Tlie crystal icicle is hung. 

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs 
Pour out the river's gradual tide, 

Shiilly the skater's iron rings 
And voices fill the woodland side. 

Mas ! how changed from the fair scene 
When birds sang out their mellow lay. 

And winds were soft, and woods were green, 
And the song ceased not with the day. 

But still, wild music is abroad. 

Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; 
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord. 

Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. 

Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear 
Has grown familiar with your song ; 

[ hear it in the opening year, — 
I listen, and it cheers me long. 

Henry "Wadsworth Longfellow. 



iTORTH WIM). 

Loud wind ! strong wind ! sweeping o'er the 

mountains ; 
Fresh wind! free wind! blowing from the 

sea. 
Pour forth thy vials like torrents from air 

fountains, 
Draughts of life to me. 

Clear wind ! cold wind ! like a northern giant. 

Stars brightly threading thy cloud-driven 
hair, 

Thrilling the blank night with thy voice de- 
fiant — 

Lo ! I meet thee there ! 

Wild wind ! bold w^ind ! like a strong-armed 

angel 
Clasp me and kiss me with thy kisses 

divine ! 
Ureathe in this dulled car thy secret, swxct 

evangel, — 
Mine, and only mine I 



Fierce wind! mad wind! howling o'er the 

nations ! 
Knew'st thou how leapeth my heart as thou 

goest by. 
Ah! thou wouldst pause awhile in sudden 

patience, 
Like a human sigh ! 

Sharp wind ! keen wind ! cutting as word 

arrows, 
Empty thy quiver-full! Pass by! what is't 

to thee, 
That in some mortal eyes life's whole 

bright circle narrows 
To one misery ? 

Loud wind! strong wind ! stay thou in the 

mountains ; 
Fresh wind ! free wind ! trouble not the sea ! 
Or lay thy deathly hand upon my heart'e 

warm fountains 

That I hear not thee I 

Dinah Maria Mulook. 



THE SE'OW-STORM. 

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky. 
Arrives the snow ; and, driving o'er the fields 
Seems nowhere to alight ; the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the 

heaven. 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier'.*"- 

feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemate;- 

sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
Li a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Come see the north wind's masonry. 
Out of an unseen quarry, evermore 
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
Carves his white bastions with projected root 
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door 
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 
So fanciful, so savage ; nouglit cares he 
For number or proportion. Mockingly, ' 
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreathes 
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn ; 
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 
Maugre the farmer's sighs ; and at the gate 
A tapering turret overtops the work. 



112 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



And when bis liours are numbered, and tbe 

world 
Is all bis own, retiring q^ be were not, 
Leaves, wben tbe sun appears, astonisbed Art 
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone. 
Built in an age, tbe mad wmd's nigbt-work, 
Tbe frolic arcbitecture of tbe snow. 

Kalph Waldo Emerson. 



WINTER SOXG. 

SuM^iEE joys are o'er ; 

Flowerets bloom no more, 
Wintry winds are sweeping ; 
Tbrougb tbe snow-drifts, peeping. 

Cbeerful evergreen 

Karely now is seen. 

!N'ow no plumed tbrong 
Obarms tbe wood witb song ; 

Ice-bound trees are glittering ; 

Merry snow-birds, twittering. 
Fondly strive to cbeer 
Scenes so cold and drear. 

Winter, still I see 

Many cbarms in tbee — 
Tuove tby cbilly greeting. 
Snow-storms fiercely beating. 

And tbe dear deligbts 

Of tbe long, long nigbts. 

LnDwia HoLTY. (Gorman.) 
Translation of C. T. Brooks. 



SOOTTET 

rO A BIRD THAT nAUXTED THE WATERS OF 
LAAKEN IN THE VTINTER. 

O iviELAN-CHOLY bird, a winter's day 
Tbou standest by tbe margin of tbe pool, 
And, taugbt by God, dost tby wbole being 
scbool 

To patience, wbicb all evil can allay. 

God bas appointed tbee tbe fisb tby prey, 
And given tbyself a lesson to tbe fool 
Untbrifty, to submit to moral rule, 

And bis untbinldng course by tbee to weigb. 
There need not scbools nor tbe professor's 
chair, 



Though these be good, true wisdom to impart : 
He who bas not enough for these to spare, 
Of time or gold, may yet amend bis heart. 
And teach bis soul by brooks and rivers 
fair — 
N"ature is always wise in every part. 

LoED Thtjklow. 



TO THE REDBREAST. 

Sweet bird! that sing'st away tbe early 

hours 
Of winters past or coming, void of care; 
Well pleased with delights which present arc, 
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling 

flowers — 
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy 

bowers 
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, 
And what dear gifts on tbee He did not spare, 
A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. 
What soul can be so sick which by thy songs 
(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven 
Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and 

wrongs. 
And lift a reverend eye and thought to 

Heaven ! 
Sweet, artless songster! tbou my mind dost 

raise 
To airs of spheres — yes, and to angels' lays. 
William Dkummoni\ 



AFTERN^OOlSr m FEBRtJARY. 

The day is ending, 
Tbe night is descending ; 
Tbe marsh is frozen. 
The river dead. 

Through clouds like ashee 
Tbe red sun flashes 
On village windows 
That glimmer red. 

The snow recommences ; 
The buried fences 
Mark no longer 

Tbe road o'er tbe plain ; 



4 



4 



WINTER. 



113 



While tlirougli the meadows, 
Like fearful shadows, 
Slowly passes 
A funeral train. 

The hell is peahng, 
And every feeling 
Within me responds 
To the dismal knell ; 

Shadows are trailing, 
My heart is bewailing 
And tolling within 
Like a funeral hell. 

Henet Wadsworth Longfellow. 



A SOISTG EOK THE SEASONS. 

When the merry lark doth gild 

With his song the summer hours, 
And their nests the swallows build 

In the roofs and tops of towers, 
And the golden broom-flower burns 

All about the waste, 
And the maiden May returns 

With a pretty haste, — 

TJien^ how merry are tlie times ! 

The Summer times ! the Spring times ! 

Now, from off the ashy stone 

The chilly midnight cricket crieth, 
And all merry birds aie flown. 

And our dream of pleasure dieth ; 
Now the once blue, laughing sky 

Saddens into gray. 
And the frozen rivers sigh, 

Pining all away ! 

N'oic^ how solemn are the times ! 
The Winter times ! the Night times ! 

Yet, be merry : all around 

Is through one vast change revolving ; 
Even Night, who lately frowned. 

Is in paler dawn dissolving ; 
Earth will burst her fetters strange. 

And in Spring grow free ; 
All things in the world will change. 
Save — my love for thee ! 

Sing then, hopeful are all times ! 
Winter, Summer, Spring times ! 

Barry Cornwall. 

19 



DIEGE FOR THE YEAR. 

Oephan Hours, the Year is dead. 
Come and sigh, come and weep ! 

Merry Hours, smile instead. 
For the Year is but asleep : 

See, it smiles as it is sleeping. 

Mocking your untimely weeping. 

As an earthquake rocks a corse 

In its coflin in the clay. 
So white Winter, that rough mirse. 

Rocks the dead-cold Y^ear to-day ; 
Solenm Hours ! wail alond 
For your mother in her shroud. 

As the wild air stirs and sways 
The tree-swnng cradle of a child, 

So the breath of these rude days 
Rocks the Year. Be calm and mild, 

Trembling Hours ; she will arise 

With new love within her eyes. 

January gray is here, 

Like a sexton by her grave ; 

February bears the bier ; 

March with grief doth howl and rave, 

And April weeps — but, O ye Hours ! 

Follow with May's fairest flowers. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS 

IN CALLING FORTH AXD STEENGTHEXIXG THK 
IMAGIXATIOX IN BOYHOOD AND YOUTH. 

Wisdom and Spirit of the universe ! 
Thou Soul, that art the eternity of thought I 
And giv'st to forms and images a breath 
And everlasting motion I not in vain. 
By dny or star-light, thus from my first dawn 
Of cliildhood didst thou intertwine for me 
The passions that build up our human soul — 
Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man. 
But with high objects, with enduring thing.<s 
With Life and Nature ; purifying thus 
Tlie elements of feeling and of thought, 
And sanctifying by sucli discipline 
Both pain and fear, — until we recognize 
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. 



114 



POEMS OF Na^rURE. 



Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me 
With stiated kindness. In November days, 
When vapors rolhng down the valleys made 
A. lonely scene more lonesome ; among woods 
At noon; and 'mid the calm of summer 

nights, 
When, by the margin of the trembling lake, 
Beneath the gloomy hills, homeward I went 
In solitude, such intercourse was mine. 
Mine was it in the fields both day and night, 
And by the waters, all the Summer long; 
And in the frosty season, when the sun 
Was set, and, visible for many a mile. 
The cottage windows through the twilight 

blazed, 
[ heeded not the summons. Happy time 
Et was indeed for all of us ; for me 
It was a time of rapture ! Clear and loud 
The village-clock toUed six ; I wheeled about, 
Proud and exulting like an untired horse 
That cares not for his home. All shod with 

steel, 
We hissed along the pohshed ice, in games 
Confederate, imitative of the chase 
And woodland pleasures, — the resounding 

horn. 
The pack loud-chiming, and the hunted hare. 
So through the darkness and the cold we flew. 
And not a voice was idle. With the din 
Smitten, the precipices rang aloud ; 
Tlie leafless trees and every icy crag 
Tinkled like iron ; while far-distant hills 
Into the tumult sent an alien sound 
Of melancholy, not unnoticed ; while the stars, 
Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the 

west 
The orange sky of evening died away. 

Not seldom from the uproar I retired 
Into a silent bay, or sportively 
Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous 

throng. 
To cut across the reflex of a star — 
[mage, that, flying still before me, gleamed 
Upon the glassy plain. And oftentimes. 
When we had given our bodies to the wind, 
And all the shadowy banks on either side 
Came sweeping through the darkness, spin- 
ning still 
The rapid line of motion, then at once 
Have I, reclining back upon my heels, 



Stopped short ; yet still the solitary cliffs 
Wheeled by me, — even as if the Earth had 

rolled 
With visible motion her diurnal round ! 
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, 
Feebler and feebler ; and I stood and watched 
Till all was tranquil as a summer sea. 

William Woedswoktii. 



HYMN 



BEFORE SUNEISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOTJNI. 

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star 
In his steep course? So long he seems tc 

pause 
On thy bald, awful head, sovereign Blanc ! 
The Arve and ALrveu'on at thy base 
Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful Form, 
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 
How silently ! Around thee and above 
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black- - 
An ebon mass. Methinks thou piercest it, 
As with a wedge ! But when I look again. 
It is thine own calm home, thy crysta 

shrine. 
Thy habitation from eternity ! 

dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee, 
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. 
Didst vanish from my thought. Entranced in 

prayer 

1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, 
So sweet we know not we are listening to it, 
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with 

my thought — 
Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy — 
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, 
Into the mighty vision passing — there, 
As in her natural form, swelled vast to 

Heaven ! 

Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise 
Thou owest ! not alone these sweUing tears. 
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy ! Awake, 
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, 

awake ! 
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hyran. 



HYMN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. 



lib 



Thon first and chief, sole sovereign of the 

vale! 
Oh, struggling with the darkness all the night, 
And visited all night bj troops of stars, 
Or vrhen they climb the sky or when they 

sink — 
Companion of the morning-star at dawn, 
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
Co-herald — wake, oh wake, and ntter praise ! 
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? 
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? 
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad ! 
Who called you forth from night and utter 

death. 
From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks. 
For ever shattered and the same for ever ? 
Who gave you your invulnerable life. 
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and 

your joy. 
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? 
And who commanded (and the silence came). 
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? 

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mouiitain's 
brow 

Adown enormous ravines slope amain — 

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty 
voice. 

And stopped at once amid their maddest 
plunge ! 

Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 

Who made you glorious as the gates of 
Heaven 

Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade 
the sun 

Clothe you with rainbows ? Who. with liv- 
ing flowers 



Of lovehest blue, spread garlands at your 
feet? 

God ! — let the torrents, like a shout of na- 
tions, 

Ajiswer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God ! 

God! sing ye meadow-streams with glad- 
some voice ! 

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like 
sounds ! 

And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow. 

And in their perilous fall shall thunder, 
God! 
Ye living flowers tha,t skirt the eternal 
frost! 

Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest 1 

Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! 

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds I 

Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 

Utter forth God, and fill the hihs with 
praise ! 

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky- 
pointing peaks. 
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pur 

serene, ^ 

Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast — 
Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou 
That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base 
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with 

tears. 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, 
To rise before me — Rise, oh ever rise ! 
Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth ! 
Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, 
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven, 
Great Hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky. 
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun. 
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God 

Samitel Taylob COLEBIDOn. 



1 



PART II. 

POEMS OF CHILDHOOD 



Piping down the valleys wild, 

Piping songs of pleasant glee, 
On a cloud I saw a child, 

And he, laughing, said to me • 

•* Pipe a song about a lamb." 

So I piped with merry cheer, 
* Piper, pipe that song again." 

So I piped ; he wept to hear. 

** Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, 
Sing thy songs of happy cheer.' 

So I sung the same again, 

While he wept with joy to hear. 

" Piper, sit thee down and write. 
In a book, that all may read."— 

So he vanished from my sight. 
And I plucked a hollow reed , 

\nd I made a rural pen ; 

And I stained the water clear 
/Vnd I wrote my happy songs 

Every child may joy to hear. 

'William Blaks. 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



BABY MAY. 

Cheeks as soft as July peaches ; 
Lips whose dewy scarlet teaches 
Poppies paleness ; round large eyes 
Ever great with new surprise ; 
Minutes filled with shadeless gladness ; 
Minutes just as brimmed with sadness ; 
Happy smiles and wailing cries ; 
Crows and laughs and tearful eyes ; 
Lights and shadows, swifter born 
Than on wind-swept autumn corn ; 
Ever some new tiny notion, 
Making every limb all motion ; 
Catchings up of legs and arms ; 
Throwings back and small alarms ; 
Clutching fingers ; straightening jerks ; 
Twining feet whose each toe works ; 
Kickings up and straining risings ; 
Mother's ever new surprisings ; 
Hands all wants and looks all wonder 
At all things the heavens under ; 
Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings 
That have more of love than lovings ; 
Mischiefs done with such a winning 
Archness that we prize such sinning ; 
Breakings dire of plates and glasses ; 
Graspings small at all that passes ; 
Pullings off of all that 's able 
To be caught from tray or table ; 
Silences — small meditatious 
Deep as thoughts of cares for nations 
Breaking into wisest speeches 
m a tongue that nothing teaches ; 
^11 the thoughts of whose possessing 
Vfust be w ooed to light by guessing ; 



Slumbers — such sweet angel-seemings 
That we 'd ever have such dreamings ; 
Till from sleep we see thee breaking, 
And we 'd always have thee waking ; 
Wealth for which we know no measure ; 
Pleasure high above all pleasure ; 
Gladness brimming over gladness ; 
Joy in care ; delight in sadness ; 
Loveliness beyond completeness ; 
Sweetness distancing all sweetness ; 
Beauty all that beauty may be ; — 
That 's May Bennett ; that 's my baby. 

William C. BENNmrx. 



LULLABY. 

Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea. 
Low, low, breathe and blow, 

Wind of the western sea ! 
Over the rolling waters go ; 
Come from the dying moon, and blow, 

Blow him again to me ; 
While my little one, while ray pretty one, 
sleeps. 

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest ; 

Father will come to thee soon. 
Kest, rest on mother's breast ; 

Father will come to thee soon. 
Father will come to his babe in the nest; 
Silver sails all out of the west 

Under the silver moon ; 
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleepii 
Alpbbd Tenntooh 



120 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



OHOosma a i^ame. 

I nATE got a new-born sister ; 

I was nigh the first that kissed her. 

When the nursing- woman brought her 

To papa, his infant daughter, 

How papa's dear eyes did glisten ! — 

She will shortly be to christen ; 

And papa has made the oflfer, 

I shall have the naming of her. 

Now I wonder what would please l;er — 

Charlotte, Julia, or Lousia ? 

Ann and Mary, they 're too common ; 

Joan 's too tbrmal for a woman ; 

Jane 's a prettier name beside ; 

But we had a Jane that died. 

They would say, if 't was Eebecca, 

That she was a little Quaker. 

Edith 's pretty, but that looks 

Better in old English books ; 

Ellen 's left off long ago ; 

Blanche is out of fashion now. 

Xone that I have named as yet 

Are so good as Margaret. 

Emily is neat and fine ; 

What do you think of Caroline ? 

How I 'm puzzled and perplexed 

What to choose or think of next ! 

I am in a little fever 

Lest the name that I should give her 

Should disgrace her or defame her ; — 

I will leave papa to name her. 

Maet Lamb. 



THE CKRISTEOTN'G-. 

Aerated — a half-angelic sight — 
In vests of pure baptismal white, 
The mother to the Font doth bring 
The little helpless, nameless thing 
With hushes soft and mild caressing, 
At once to get — a name and blessing. 
Close by the babe the priest doth stand, 
The cleansing water at his hand 
Which must assoil the soul within 
From every stain of Adam's sin. 
The infant eyes the mystic scenes, 
ITor know3 what aU this wonder means : 



And now he smiles, as if to say, 1 

" I am a Christian made this day ; " 

IjTow frighted clings to nurse's hold, 

Shrinking from the water cold, 

Whose virtues, rightly understood, 

Are, as Bethesda's waters, good. 

Strange words— The World, The Flesh, The 

Devil- 
Poor babe, what can it know of evil? 
But we must silently adore 
Mysterious truths, and not explore. 
Enough for him, in after-times. 
When he shall read these artless rhymes. 
If, looking back upon this day 
With quiet conscience, he can say, 
" I have in part redeemed the pledge 
Of my baptismal privilege ; 
And more and more will strive to flee 
All which my sponsors kind did ,then re- 
nounce for me." 

Chakles Lamb. 



WILLIE WIKKLE. 

Wee Wniie Winkie rins through the town, 
Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, 
Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, 
*' Are the weans in their bed ? — for it 's now 
ten o'clock." 

Hey, Willie Winkie ! are ye comin' ben ? 
The cat'ssingin' gay thrums to the sleepin' 

hen, 
The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna 

gie a cheep ; 
But here 's a wauki-ife laddie, that winna fa' 

asleep. 

Ony thing but sleep, ye rogue ! — glow'rin' like 

the moon, 
Kattlin' in an airn jug wi' an aim spoon, 
Kumbhn', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like 

a cock, 
Skirlin' like a kenna-what — wauknin' sleep in 

folk! 

Hey, Willie Winkie ! the wean 's in a creel ! 
Waumblin' aff a bodie's knee like a vera eel, 
Ruggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her ^ 

thrums : 
Hey, Willie Winkie ! — See, there he comes I 



BABYHOOD. 



12] 



vVearie is the raither that has a storie wean, 
A. v^ee stumpie stoussie, that canna rin his 

lane. 
That has a battle aye wi' sleep, before he'll 

close an ee ; 
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength 

anew to me. 

TVlLLIAM MlLLES. 



TO FEKDINAKD SEYMOUR. 

Rosy child, with forehead fair, 
Coral lip, and shining hair, 
In whose mirthful, clever eyes 
Such a world of gladness lies ; 
As thy loose curls idly straying 
O'er thy mother's cheek, while playing, 
Blend her soft lock's shadowy twine 
"With the glittering light of thine, — 
Who shall say, who gazes now, 
Which is fairest, she or thou ? 

In sweet contrast are ye met. 
Such as heart could ne'er forget: 
Thou art brilliant as a flower, 
Crimsoning in the sunny hour 
Merry as a singing-bird, 
In the green wood sweetly heard ; 
Restless as if fluttering wings 
Bore thee on thy wanderings : 
Ignorant of all distress. 
Full of childhood's carelessness. 

She is gentle ; she hath known 
Something of the echoed tone 
Sorrow leaves, where'er it goes, 
In this world of many woes. 
On her brow such shadows are 
As the faint cloud gives the star. 
Yelling its most holy light. 
Though it still be pure and bright ; 
And the color in her cheek 
To the hue on thine is weak. 
Save when flushed witli sweet surprise. 
Sudden welcomes light her eyes ; 
And her softly chiselled face 
(But for living, moving grace) 
Looks hke one of those which beam 
In th' Italian oainter's dream, — 



Some beloved Madonna, bending 
O'er the infant she is tending : 
Holy, bright, and undefiled 
Mother of the Heaven-born child ; 
Who, though painted strangely fair, 
Seems but made for holy prayer, 
Pity, tears, and sweet appeal. 
And fondness such as angels feel : 
Baffling earthly passion's sigh 
With serenest majesty ! 

Oh ! may those enshrouded yeary 
Whose fair dawn alone appears, — 
May that brightly budding life, 
Knowing yet nor sin nor strife, — 
Bring its store of hoped-for joy. 
Mother, to thy laughing boy ! 
And the good thou dost impart 
Lie deep -treasured in his heart. 
That, when he at length shall strive 
In the bad world where we live. 
Thy sweet name may stiU be blest 
As one who taught his soul true rest ! 
Caroline Noeton. 



PHILIP, MY EIXG. 

" Who bears upon his baby brow the round 
And top of sovereignty." 

Look at me with thy large brown eyes, 

Phihp, my king I 
For round thee the purple shadow lies 
Of babyhood's royal dignities. 
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand 
With Love's invisible sceptre laden ; 
1 am thine Esther, to command 

Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaideii, 
Phihp, my Idng ! 

Oh, the day when thou goest a-wooing. 

Philip, my king ! 
When those beautiful lips 'gin suing, 
And, some gentle heart's bars undoing, 
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there 

Sittest love-glorified ! — Rule kindly, 
Tenderly over thy kingdom Mr; 
For wo that love, ah ! wo love so blindly, 
Philip, my king ! 



122 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



I gaze from thy sweet month up to thy brow, 

Philip, my king ! 
The spirit that there lies sleeping now, 
May rise like a giant, and make men bow 
As to one Heaven-chosen amongst his peers. 
My Saul, than thy brethren higher and 
fairer. 
Let me behold thee in future years ! 
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, 
Philip, my king — 

A wreath, not of gold, but palm. One day, 

Phihp, my king ! 
Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way 
Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and gray ; 
Rebels within thee, and foes without 
TVill snatch at thy crown. But march on, 
glorious, 
Martyr, yet monarch ! till angels shout. 
As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious, 
"Phihp, the king!" 

Dinah Maeia Mtjlock. 



And say thou wouldst rather 
They'd watch o'er thy father ! 
For I know that the angels are whispering 
to thee." 

The dawn of the morning 
Saw Dermot returning, 
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father 
to see ; 
And closely caressing 
Her child with a blessing. 
Said, "I knew that the angels were whis* 
pering with thee." 

Samttel Lover 



THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. 

A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, that, 
when a child smiles in its sleep, it is "talking with 
angels." 

A BABY was sleeping ; 
Its mother was weeping ; 
For her husband was far on the wild raging 
sea; 
And the tempest was swelling 
Round the fisherman's dwelling ; 
And she cried, "Dermot, darUng, oh come 
back to me ! " 

Her beads while she numbered, 
The baby still slumbered, 
And smiled in her face as she bended her 
knee: 
" Oh blest be that warning, 
My child, thy sleep adorning, 
For I know that the angels are whispering 
with thee. 

"And while they are seeping 

Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, 

Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me ! 



THE CHILD AKD THE WATCHER. 

Sleep on, baby on the floor. 

Tired of all thy playing — 
Sleep with smile the sweeter for 

That you dropped away in ; 
On your curls' fair roundness stand 

Golden lights serenely ; 
One cheek, pushed out by the hand. 

Folds the dimple inly — 
Little head and little foot 

Heavy laid for pleasure ; 
Underneath the hds half-shut 

Plants the shining azure ; 
Open-souled in noonday sun. 

So, you lie and slumber ; 
IsTothing evil having done, 

Nothing can encumber. 

I, who cannot sleep as well. 

Shall I sigh to view you ? 
Or sigh further to foretell 

All that may undo you ? 
Nay, keep smiling, Httle child, 

Ere the fate appeareth ! 
I smile, too ; for patience mild 

Pleasure's token weareth. 
Nay, keep sleeping before loss ; 

I shall sleep, though losing I 
As by cradle, so by cross. 

Sweet is the reposing. 

And God knows, who sees us twiun, 

Child at childish leisure, 
I am all as tired of pain 

As you are of pleasure. 



I 



i 

4 



THE CHILD ASLEEP. 



123 



Yeiy soon, too, by His grace, 

Gently wrapt aronnd me, 
I shall show as calm a face, 

I shall sleep as soundly — 
Differing in this, that you 

Cla^p your playthings sleeping, 
While my hand must drop the few 

Given to my keeping — 

Differing in this, that I, 

Sleeping, must be colder, 
And, in waking presently. 

Brighter to beholder — 
Differing in this beside 

(Sleeper, have you heard me ? 
Do you move, and open wide 

Your great eyes toward me ?) 
That while I you draw withal 

Erom this slumber solely, 
Me, from mine, an angel shall, 

Trumpet-tongued and holy ! 

Elizabeth Baeektt Beowning. 



THE CHILD ASLEEP. 

Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's 
face. 
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have 
pressed ! 
Sleep, little one ; and closely, gently place 
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast. 

Upon that tender eye, my little friend. 
Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to 
me I 
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend ; 
'Tis sweet to watch for thee — alone for 
thee! 

His arms fall down ; sleep sits upon his brow ; 
His eye is closed ; he sleeps, nor dreams 
of harm. 
Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow, 
Would you not say he slept on Death's 
cold arm? 

Awake, my boy ! — I tremble with affright! 

Awake, and chase this fatal thought!— 
Unclose 
rhine eye but for one moment on the light ! 

Even at the price of thbie, give me repose ! 



Sweet error!— he but slept — I breathe again. 

Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep 

beguile ! 

Oh ! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain, 

, Beside me watch to see thy waking smile ? 

Clotildb de Stjeville. (French.) 
Translation of H. W. Longfello"w. 



THE EITIEN AKD EALLmG LEAVES 

That way look, my infant, lo ! 
What a pretty baby- show ! 
See the kitten on the wall, 
Sporting with the leaves that faU — 
Withered leaves, — one, two, and three, — 
From the lofty elder-tree ! 
Through the calm and frosty air 
Of this morning bright and fair. 
Eddying round and round, they sink 
Softly, slowly; one might think, 
From the motions that are made. 
Every little leaf conveyed 
Sylph or fairy hither tending, 
To this lower world descending. 
Each invisible and mute 
In his wavering parachute. 

But the Kitten, how she starts, 

Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts I 
First at one, and then its fellow 
Just as hght and just as yellow ; 
There are many now, — ^now one, — 
[N'ow they stop, and there are none. 
What intenseness of desire 
In her upward eye of fire ! 
With a tiger-leap ! Half-way 
]N'ow she meets the coming prey. 
Lets it go as fast, and then 
Has it in her power again ; 
JSTow she works with three or four. 
Like an Indian conjurer; 
Quick as he in feats of art. 
Far beyond in joy of heart. 
Were her antics played in the eye 
Of a thousand standers-by, 
Clapping hands with shout and stare, 
What would little Tabby care 
For the plaudits of the crowd ? 
Over happy to be proud, 



124 



POEMS 01 CHILDHOOD. 



Over wealthy in tlie treasure 
Of her own exceeding pleasure ! 

'T is a pretty baby treat, 
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet ; 
Here for neither Babe nor me 
Other playmate can I see. 
Of the countless living things 
That with stir of feet and wings 
(In the sun or under shade, 
Upon bough or grassy blade), 
And with busy revelUngs, 
Chirp, and song, and murmurings, 
Made this orchard's narrow space, 
And this vale, so blithe a place ; 
Multitudes are swept away, 
Never more to breathe the day. 
Some are sleeping ; some in bands 
Travelled into distant lands ; 
Others slunk to moor and wood, 
Far from human neighborhood ; 
And, among the kinds that keep 
With us closer fellowship, 
With us openly abide, 
AU have laid their mirth aside. 

Where is he, that giddy sprite, 
Blue-cap, with his colors bright, 
Who was blest as bird could be, 
Feeding in the apple-tree — 
Made such wanton spoil and rout. 
Turning blossoms inside out — 
Hung, head pointing towards the ground. 
Fluttered, perched, into a round 
Bound himself, and then unbound — 
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin ! 
Prettiest tumbler ever seen ! 
Light of heart, and light of limb — 
What is now become of him ? 
Lambs, that through the mountains went 
Frisking, bleating merriment. 
When tlie year was in its prime. 
They are sobered by this time. 
If you look to vale or hill, 
If you listen, all is still. 
Save a little neighboring rill 
That from out the rocky ground 
Strikes a solitary sound. 
Vainly glitter hill and plain, 
A.nd the air is calm in vain ; 
Vainly Morning spreads the lure 



Of a sky serene and pure ; 
Creature none can she decoy 
Into open sign of joy. 
Is it that they have a fear 
Of the dreary season near ? 
Or that other pleasures be 
Sweeter even than gayety ? 

Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell 
In the impenetrable cell 
Of the silent heart which Nature 
Furnishes to every creature — 
Whatsoe'er we feel and know 
Too sedate for outward show — 
Such a light of gladness breaks. 
Pretty Kitten ! from thy freaks, — 
Spreads with such a living grace 
O'er my little Dora's face — 
Yes, the sight so stirs and charms 
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms, 
That almost I could repine 
That your transports are not mine, 
That I do not whoUy fare 
Even as ye do, thoughtless pair ! 
And I win have my careless season 
Spite of melancholy reason. 
Will walk through life in such a way 
That, when time brings on decay, 
Now and then I may possess 
Hours of perfect gladsomeness. 
Pleased by any random toy — 
By a kitten's busy joy, 
Or an infant's laughing eye 
Sharing in the ecstasy — 
I would fare like that or this, 
Find my wisdom in my bliss. 
Keep the sprightly soul awako, 
And have faculties to take. 
Even from things by sorrow wrought, 
Matter for a jocund thought — 
Spite of care, and spite of grief. 
To gambol with Life's falling leaf. 

William Wordstvobth 



THE CHILD IN THE WILDERNESS. 

ENomcTUEED in a twine of leaves — 
That leafy twine his only dress — 

A lovely boy was plucking fruits 
In a moonlight wilderness. 



THE GIPSY'S MALISON. 



125 



Tlie moon Tvas bright, the air was free, 
And fruits and flowers together grew, 

And many a shrub, and many a tree : 
And all put on a gentle hue, 

Hanging in the shadowy air 

Like a picture rich and rare. 

It was a climate where they say 

The night is more beloved than day. 
But who that beauteous boy beguiled — 

That beauteous boy I — to linger here ? 
Alone by night, a little child. 
In place so silent and so wild— 

Has he no friend, no loving mother near ? 
Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



ON THE PIOTUBE OF AN INFANT 

PLATING NEAE A PEECIPICE. 

While on the cliff with calm delight she 
kneels. 

And the blue vales a thousand joys recall, 
See, to the last, last verge her infant steals ! 

Oh fly — yet stu- not, speak not, lest it fall. — 
Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare. 
And the fond boy springs back to nestle there. 

Leonidas of Alexandria. (Greek.) 
Translation of Samuel Eogers. 



THE GIPSY'S MALISON. 

'* Suce:, baby, suck ! mother's love grows by 

giving; 
Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by 

wasting : 
Black manhood comes, when riotous guilty 

living 
Hands thee the cup that shall be death in 

tasting. 

Kiss, baby, kiss ! mother's hps shine by 

kisses ; 
Choke the warm breath that else would fall 

in blessings : 
Rlack manhood comes, when turbulent guilty 

blisses 
Tend thee the kiss tliat poisons 'mid caress- 

ings. 



Hang, baby, hang I mother's love loves such 

forces ; 
Strain the fond neck that bends stiU to thy 

clinging : 
Black manhood comes, when violent lawlesf^ 

courses 
Leave thee a spectacle in rude air swinging.'' 

^0 sang a withered beldam energetical, 
And banned the ungiving door with lips pro- 
phetical. 

Charlks Lamb, 



TO A CHILD 



EMBEACIN'G HIS MOTHEE. 



Love thy mother, little one ! 
Kiss and clasp her neck again, — 
Hereafter she may have a son 
Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. 
Love thy mother, little one ! 



Gaze upon her living eyes. 
And mirror back her love for thee, — 
Hereafter thou mayst shudder sighs 
To meet them when they cannot see. 
Gaze upon her living eyes 1 

m. 
Press her lips the while they glow 
With love that they have often told, — 
Hereafter thou mayst press in woe, 
And kiss them till thine own are cold. 
Press her lips the while they glow 1 

IV. 

Oh, revere her raven hah* ! 
Although it be not silver-gray — 
Too eai'ly Death, led on by Care, 
May snatch save one dear lock away. 
Oh, revere her raven hair ! 



Pray tor her at eve and morn. 
That Heaven may long the stroke defer — 
For thou mayst live the hour forlorn 
When thou wilt ask to die with her. 
Pray for her at eve and morn I 

TnoMAS noou 



126 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



TO J. H. 



FOUR YEARS OLD I — A IHJRSERY SONG. 



.... Pien d'amori, 
Pien di canti, e pien di flori. 

Full of little loves of onrs, 
Full of songs, and full of flowers. 



Fefgcni. 



Ah, little ranting Johnny, 

For ever blithe and bonny, 

And singing nonny, nonny, 

With hat just thrown upon ye ; 

Or wliistling like the thrushes, 

With a voice in silver gushes ; 

Or twisting random posies 

With daisies, weeds, and roses ; 

And strutting in and out so, 

Or dancing all about so ; 

With cock-up nose so lightsome, 

And sidelong eyes so brightsome, 

And cheeks as ripe as apples, 

And head as rough as Dapple's, 

And arms as sunny shining 

As if their veins they 'd wine in. 

And mouth that smUes so truly 

Heaven seems to have made it newly - 

It breaks into such sweetness 

With merry -hpped completeness ; 

Ah Jack, ah Gianni mio, 

As blithe as Laughing Trio ! 

— Sir Richard, too, you rattler, 

So christened from the Tattler, 

My Bacchus in his glory. 

My little Cor-di-fiori, 

My tricksome Puck, my Robin, 

Who in and out come bobbing. 

As full of feints and frolics as 

That fibbing rogue Autolycus, 

And play the graceless robber on 

Your grave-eyed brother Oberon, — 

Ah Dick, ah Dolce-riso, 

How can you, can you be so ? 

One cannot turn a minute. 

But mischief — ^there you 're in it : 

A-getting at my books, John, 

With mighty bustling looks, John , 

Or poking at the roses. 

In midst of which your nose is; 

Or climbing on a table, 



N"© matter how unstable. 

And turning up your quaint eye 

And half-shut teeth, with " Mayn't I?" 

Or else you 're off at play, John, 

Just as you 'd be all day, John, 

With hat or not, as happens ; 

And there you dance, and clap handa, 

Or on the grass go rolling, 

Or plucking fiowers, or bowling. 

And getting me expenses 

With losing balls o'er fences ; 

Or, as the constant trade is. 

Are fondled by the ladies 

With " What a young rogue this i;il" 

Reforming him with kisses ; 

TiU suddenly you cry out. 

As if you had an eye out. 

So desperately tearful. 

The sound is really fearful ; 

When lo ! directly after. 

It bubbles into laughter. 

Ah rogue ! and do you know, John, 

Why 'tis we love you so, John? 

And how it is they let ye 

Do what you like and pet ye. 

Though all who look upon ye. 

Exclaim, ''Ah, Johnny, Johnny!" 

It is because you please 'em 

Still more, John, than you teaze 'em ; 

Because, too, when not present, 

The thought of you is pleasant ; 

Because, though such an elf, John, 

They think that if yourself, John, 

Had something to condemn too. 

You 'd be as kind to them too ; 

In short, because you're very 

Good-tempered, Jack, and merry; 

And are as quick at giving 

As easy at receiving ; 

And in the midst of pleasure 

Are certain to find leisure 

To think, my boy, of ours, 

And bring us lumps of flowers. 

But see, the sun shines brightly ; 
Come, put your hat on rightly. 
And we '11 among the bushes. 
And hear your friends, the thrushes; 
And see what flowers the weather 
Has rendered fit to gather ; 



TO A CHILD DURING SICKNESS. 



127 



And, when we home must jog, you 
Shall ride my back, you rogue you, — 
Your hat adorned with fine leaves, 
Horse-chestnut, oak, and vine-leaves, 
And so, with green overhead, John, 
Shall whistle home to bed, John. 

Leigh Hunt. 



THE FAIRY CHILD. 

The summer sun was sinking 
With a mild hght, calm and mellow ; 

It shone on my little boy's bonny cheeks, 
And his loose locks of yellow. 

The robin was singing sweetly, 
And his song was sad and tender ; 

And my Httle boy's eyes, while he heard the 
song. 
Smiled with a sweet soft splendor. 

My little boy lay on my bosom 
While his soul the song was quaflSng; 

The joy of his soul had tinged his cheek, 
And his heart and his eye were laughing. 

I Bate alone in my cottage. 

The midnight needle plying ; 
1 feared for my child, for the rush's light 

In the socket now was dying ! 

Tliere came a hand to my lonely latch. 
Like the wind at midnight moaning ; 

I knelt to pray, but rose again. 
For I heard my little boy groaning. 

I crossed my brow and I crossed my breast. 
But that night my child departed — 

They left a weakling in his stead, 
And I am broken-hearted ! 

Oh ! it cannot be my own sweet boy, 
For his eyes are dim and hollow ; 

My little boy is gone — is gone, 
And his mother soon will follow 

The dirge for the dead will be sung for me. 
And the mass be chanted meetly, 

ind I shall sleep with my little boy. 
In the moonhght churchyard sweetly. 

John ANSTsit. 



TO A CHILI), duki:ng sickkess. 

Sleep breathes at last from out thee. 

My Httle patient boy ; 
And balmy rest about thee 
Smooths off the day's annoy. 

I sit me down, and think 
Of all thy winning ways ; 
Yet almost wish, with sudden slirink, 
That I had less to praise. 

Thy sidelong pillowed meekness, 

Thy thanks to all that aid. 
Thy heart, in pain and weakness, 
Of fancied faults afraid ; 

The little trembling hand 
That wipes thy quiet teai's : 
These, these ai^e things that may demand 
Dread memories for years. 

Sorrows I 've had, severe ones, 

I will not think of now ; 
And calmly, midst my dear ones. 
Have wasted with dry brow ; 
But when thy fingers press 
And pat my stooping head, 
I cannot bear the gentleness — 
The tears are in their bed. 

Ah, first-born of thy mother. 

When life and hope were new ; 
Kind playmate of thy brother. 
Thy sister, father too ; 

My hght, where'er I go ; 
My bird, when prison-bound , 
My hand-in-hand companion — 'Ko, 
My prayers shall hold thee round. 

To say " He has departed " — 

" His voice " — " his fiice " — is gone, 
To feel impatient-hearted. 

Yet feel we must bear on — 
Ahj I could not endure 

To whisper of such woe. 
Unless I felt this sleep ensure 

That it will not be so. 

Yes, still he 's fixed, and sleeping I 

This silence too the while- 
Its very hush and creeping 
Seem whispering us a smile 



128 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Something divine and dim 
Seems going by one's ear, 
lake parting wings of cherubim, 

Who say, " We Ve finished here." 

Leigh Hxtnt. 



TO H. 0. 



SIX YEAES OLD. 



THOU whose fancies from afar are brought ; 
Who of thy words dost make a mock appare., 
And fittest to unutterable thought 
The breeze-like" motion and the self-born 

carol , 
Thou fairy voyager ! that dost float 
In such clear water, that thy boat 
May rather seem 

To brood on air than on an earthly stream — 
Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, 
Where earth and heaven do make one 

imagery ; 

blessed vision ! happy child ! 
Thou art so exquisitely wild, 

1 think of thee with many fears 

For what may be thy lot in future years. 

I thought of times when Pain might be thy 

guest. 
Lord of thy house and hospitality ; 
And Grief, uneasy lover, never rest 
But when she sat within the touch of thee. 
O too industrious folly ! 
O vain and causeless melancholy ! 
Nature will either end thee quite ; 
Or, lengthening out thy season of delight. 
Preserve for thee, by individual right, 
A young lamb's heart among the full-grown 

flocks. 
What hast thou to do with sorrow, 
Or the injuries of to-morrow ? 
Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings 

forth, 
El fitted to sustain unkindly shocks. 
Or to be trailed along the soiling earth ; 
A gem that glitters while it lives. 
And no forewarning gives. 
But, at the touch of wrongs, without a strife. 
Slips in a moment out of life. 

William Woedsworth. 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 

Aet thou a thing of mortal birth, 
Whose happy home is on our earth ? 
Does human blood with life imbue 
Those wandering veins of heavenly bine 
That stray along that forehead fair, 
Lost mid a gleam of golden hair ? 
Oh! can that light and airy breath 
Steal from a being doomed to death; 
Those features to the grave be sent 
In sleep thus mutely eloquent ; 
Or, art thou, what thy form would seem, 
A phantom of a blessed dream ? 

A human shape I feel thou art— 
I feel it at my beating heart, 
lliose tremors both of soul and sense 
Awoke by infant innocence! 
Though dear the forms by Fancy wove, 
We love them with a transient love; 
Thoughts from the living world intrude 
Even on her deepest sohtude: 
But, lovely child ! thy magic stole 
At once into my inmost soul, 
With feelings as thy beauty fair. 
And left no other vision there. 

To me thy parents are unknown ; 
Glad would they be then- child to own ! 
And well they must have loved before, 
If since thy birth they loved not more. 
Thou art a branch of noble stem. 
And, seeing thee, I figure them. 
What many a childless one would give, 
If thou in their still home wouldst live ! 
Though in thy face no family line 
Might sweetly say, " This babe is mine ! " 
In time thou wouldst become the same 
As their own child, — all but the name. 

How happy must thy parents be 
Who daily live in sight of thee ! 
Whose hearts no greater pleasure seek 
Than see thee smile, and hear thee speak, 
And feel all natural griefs beguiled 
By thee, their fond, their duteous child. 
What joy must in their souls have stirred 
When thy first broken words were heard — 
Words, that, inspired by Heaven, expressed 
The transports dancing in thy breast ! 
And for thy smile ! — thy lip, cheek, brow. 
Even while I gaze, are kindling now 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 



129 



I called thee duteous ; am I wrong? 
No I truth, I feel, is in my song : 
Duteous, thy heart's still heatings mo^e 
To God, to Nature, and to love ! 
To God! — for thou, a harmless child, 
Hast kept his temple undefiled ; 
To Kature ! — for thy tears and sighs 
Ohey alone her mysteries ; 
To love! — for fiends of hate might see 
Thou dwell'st in love, and love in thee. 
What wonder then, though in thy dreams 
Thy face with mystic meaning heams I 

Oh ! that my spirit's eye could see 
Whence hurst those gleams of ecstasy ! 
That light of dreaming soul appears 
To pky from thoughts above thy years ; 
Thou smilest as if thy soul were soaring 
To heaven, and heaven's God adoring. 
And who can tell what visions high 
May bless an infant's sleeping eye ? 
What brighter throne can brightness find 
To reign on, than an infant's mind. 
Ere sin destroy, or error dim. 
The glory of the seraphim ? 

But now thy changing smiles express 
Intelligible happiness. 
I feel my soul thy soul partake. 
What grief, if thou wouldst now awake ! 
With infants happy as thyself 
I see thee bound, a playful elf; 
I see thou art a darling child, 
Among thy playmates bold and wild ; 
They love thee well ; thou art the queen 
Of all their sports, in bower or green ; 
And if thou livest to woman's height. 
In thee will friendship, love, delight. 

And live thou surely must ; thy life 
Is far too spiritual for the strife 
Of mortal pain ; nor could disease 
Find heart to prey on smiles like these. 
Oh ! thou wilt be an angel bright— 
To those thou lovest, a saving light — 
The staft' of age, the help sublime 
Of erring youth, and stubborn prime ; 
And when thou go est to heaven again, 
Thy vanishing be like the strain 
Of airy hai^p — so soft the tone 
Tho ear scarce knows when it is gone! 

Thrice blessed he whose stars design 
His spirit pure to lean on thine, 
And watchful share, for days and years, 
21 



Thy sorrows, joys, sighs, smiles, and tears I 

For good and guiltless as thou art, 

Some transient griefs will touch thy heart — 

Griefs that along thy altered face 

Will breathe a more subduing grace 

Than even those looks of joy that he 

On the soft cheek of infancy. 

Though looks, God knows, are cradled there 

That guilt might cleanse, or soothe despair. 

vision fair ! that I could be 
Again as young, as pure, as thee ! 
Vain wish ! the rainbow's radiant form 
May view, but cannot brave, the storm ; 
Years can bedim the gorgeous dyes 
That paint the bird of Paradise ; 
And years, so Fate hath ordered, roll 
Clouds o'er the summer of the soul. 
Yet, sometimes, sudden sights of grace, 
Such as the gladness of thy face, 
sinless babe, by God are given 
To charm the wanderer back to lieaveu. 

No common impulse hath me led 
To this green spot, thy quiet bed, 
Where, by mere gladness overcome, 
In sleep thou dreamest of thy home. 
When to the lake I would have gone, 
A wondrous beauty drew me on — 
Such beauty as the spirit sees 
In glittering fields and moveless trees. 
After a warm and silent shower 
Ere falls on earth the twilight hour. 
What led me hither, all can say 
Who, knowing God, his will obey. 

Thy slumbers now cannot be long ; 
Thy little dreams become too strong 
For sleep — too like reahties ; 
Soon shall I see those hidden eyes. 
Thou wakest, and starting from the ground, 
In dear amazement look'st around ; 
Like one who, little given to roam, 
Wonders to find herself from home ! 
But when a stranger meets thy view, 
Glistens thine eye with wilder hue. 
A moment's thought who I may be. 
Blends with thy smiles of courtesy. 

Fair was that face as break of dawn, 
When o'er its beauty sleep was drawn, 
Like a thin veil that half concealed 
The light of soul, and half revealed. 
While tliy hushed heart with visions wTougAil 
Each trembling eye-lash moved with thought 



l30 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



A.nd things we dream, but ne'er can speak, 

Like clouds came floating o'er thy cheek — 

Such summer-clouds as travel light, 

When the souPs heaven lies calm and bright — 

Till thou awokest ; then to thine eye 

Thy whole heart leapt in ecstasy ! 

And lovely is that heart of thine, 

Or sure those eyes could never shine 

With such a wild, yet bashful glee, 

Gay, half-o'ercome timidity ! 

Nature has breathed into thy face 

A spirit of unconscious grace — 

A spirit that lies never still, 

And makes thee joyous 'gainst thy will : 

As, sometimes o'er a sleeping lake 

Soft airs a gentle ripphng make, 

Till, ere we know, the strangers fly. 

And water blends again with sky. 

happy sprite ! didst thou but know 
What pleasures through my being flow 
From thy soft eyes ! a holier feeling 
From their blue hght could ne'er be stealing ; 
But thou wouldst be more loth to part. 
And give me more of that glad heart. 
Oh ! gone thou art ! and bearest hence 
The glory of thy innocence. 
But with deep joy I breathe the air 
That kissed thy cheek, and fanned thy hair, 
And feel though fate our lives must sever, 
Tet shall thy image live for ever ! 

John Wilson. 



OHILDEEiT. 

Children are what the mothers are. 
No fondest father's fondest care 
Can fashion so the infant heart 
As those creative beams that dart. 
With all their hopes and fears, upon 
The cradle of a sleeping son. 

His startled eyes with wonder see 
A father near him on his knee, 
Who wishes all the while to trace 
The mother in his futureface ; 
But 't is to her alone uprise 
His wakening arms ; to her those eyes 
Open with joy and not surprise. 

Walter Savage Landor. 



TO A CHILD. 

Dear child ! whom sleep can hardly tame, 
As live and beautiful as flame. 
Thou glancest round my graver hours 
As if thy crown of wild- wood flowers 
Were not by mortal forehead worn, 
But on the summer breeze were borne. 
Or on a mountain streamlet's waves 
Came glistening down from dreamy caves. 

With bright round cheek, amid whose glow 
Dehght and wonder come and go ; 
And eyes whose inward meanings play, 
Congenial Tvith the light of day ; 
And brow so calm, a home for Thought 
Before he knows his dwelling wrought ; 
Though wise indeed thou seemest not. 
Thou bright enest well the wise man's lot. 

That shout proclaims the undoubting mind ; 
That laughter leaves no ache behind ; 
And in thy look and dance of glee. 
Unforced, unthought of, simply free. 
How weak the schoolman's formal art 
Thy soul and body's bliss to part ! 
I hail thee Childhood's very Lord, 
In gaze and glance, in voice and word. 

In spite of all foreboding fear, 
A thing thou art of present cheer ; 
And thus to be beloved and known, 
As is a rushy fountain's tone, 
As is the forest's leafy shade. 
Or blackbird's hidden serenade. 
Thou art a flash that lights the whole— 
A gush from iJ^J'ature's vernal soul. 

And yet, dear child ! within thee lives 
A power that deeper feeling gives, 
That makes thee more than light or air, 
Than all things sweet and all things tair; 
And sweet and fair as aught may be, 
Diviner life belongs to thee, 
For 'mid thine aimless joys began 
The perfect heart and will of Man. 

Thus what thou art foreshows to me 
How greater far thou s>oon shalt be ; 



THE MOTHER'S HOPE. 



181 



And while amid thy garlands blow 
The winds that warbling come and go, 
Ever within, not loud but clear, 
Prophetic murmur fills the ear. 
And says that every human birth 
Anew discloses God to earth. 

John Steeling. 



THE MOTHER'S HOPE. 

Is there, when the winds are singing 

In the happy summer time — 
When the raptured air is ringing 
With Eai'th's music heavenward springing, 

Forest chirp, and village chime — 
Is there, of the sounds that float 
Unsighingly, a single note 
Half so sweet, and clear, and wild, 
As the laughter of a child ? 

Listen ! and be now delighted : 
Morn hath touched her golden strings ; 

Earth and Sky their vows have plighted ; 

liife and Light are reunited, 
Amid countless carolhngs ; 

Yet, delicious as they are, 

There 's a sound that 's sweeter far — 

One that makes the heart rejoice 

More than all, — the human voice ! 

Organ finer, deeper, clearer, 
Though it be a stranger's tone — 
Than the winds or waters dearer. 
More enchanting to the hearer, 
For it answereth to his own. 
But, of all its witching words. 
Those are sweetest, bubbling wild 
Through the laughter of a child. 

Harmonies from time-touched towers. 

Haunted strains from rivulets. 
Hum of bees among the flowers. 
Rustling leaves, and silver showers, — 

These, ere long, the ear forgets ; 
But in mine there is a sound 
Ringing on the whole year round — 
Heart-deep laughter tliat I heard 
Ere my child could speak a word. 



Ah ! 't was heard by ear far purer, 

Fondlier formed to catch the strain — 
Ear of one whose love is surer — 
Hers, the mother, the endurer 
^ Of the deepest share of pain; 
Hers the deepest bliss to treasure 
Memories of that cry of pleasure ; 
Hers to hoard, a life-time after. 
Echoes of that infant laughter. 

'T is a mother's large affection 
Hears with a mysterious sense — 

Breathings that evade detection. 

Whisper faint, and fine inliexion. 
Thrill in her with power intense. 

Childhood's honeyed words untaught 

Hiveth she in loving thought — 

Tones that never thence depart ; 

For she listens — with her heart. 

Laman Blanchabd. 



THE MOTHER'S HEART. 

"WnEN first thou earnest, gentle, shy, and 
fond. 
My eldest born, first hope, and dearest 
treasure, 
My heart received thee with a joy beyond 

All that it yet had felt of earthly pleasure ; 
INTor thought that any love again might be 
So deep and strong as that I felt for thee. 



Faithful and true, with sense beyond thy 
years, 
And natural piety that leaned to heaven ; 
Wrung by a harsh word suddenly to tears. 

Yet patient to rebuke when justly given — 
Obedient — easy to be reconciled — 
And meekly cheerful; such wert thou, my 
child! 



'N'ot willing to be left — still by my side. 
Haunting my walks, while summer- day 
was dying ; 



182 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



n 



N'or leaving in thy turn, but pleased to glide 
Through the dark room where I was sadly 

lying ; 

Or by the couch of pain, a sitter meek, 
Watch the dim eye, and kiss the levered 
cheek. 



boy ! of such as thou are oftenest made 
Earth's fragile idols ; like a tender flower, 

"N'o strength in all thy freshness, prone to 
fade. 
And bending weakly to the thunder- 
shower ; 

Still, round the loved, thy heart found force 
to bind, 

And clung, like woodbine shaken in the 
wind! 



Then thou, my merry love — bold in thy glee, 
Undei* the bough, or by the firelight danc- 
ing, 
With thy sweet temper, and thy spirit free — 
Didst come, as restless as a bird's wing 
glancing, 
Full of a wild and irrepressible mirth. 
Like a young sunbeam to the gladdened earth I 



Thine was the shout, the song, the burst of 
joy, 
Which sweet from childhood's rosy lip re- 
soundeth ; 
Thine was the eager spirit naught could cloy. 
And the glad heart from which all grief 
reboundeth ; 
And many a mirthful jest and mock reply 
Lurked in the laughter of thy dark-blue eye. 



And thine was many an art to win and bless, 
The cold and stern to joy and fondness 
warming ; 
The coaxing smile— the frequent soft caress — 
The earnest tearful prayer all wrath dis- 
arming ! 
Agmn my heart a new affection found. 
But thought that love with thee had reached 
its bound. 



At length thou camest — thou, the last ant 
least, 
Nick-named "the Emperor " by thy laugh 
ing brothers — 
Because a haughty spirit swelled thy breast. 
And thou didst seek to rule and sway th«^ 
others — 
Mingling with every playful infant wile 
A mimic majesty that made us smile. 



And oh ! most like a regal child wert thou ! 

An eye of resolute and successful scheming ! 
Fair shoulders — curhng lips — and dauntless 
brow — 
Fit for the world's strife, not for poet's 
dreaming ; 
And proud the hfting of thy stately head. 
And the firm bearing of thy conscious tread. 



Different fi^om both! yet each succeeding 
claim 
I, that all other love had been forswearing, 
Forthwith admitted, equal and the same ; 

Nor injured either by this love's comparing 
Nor stole a fraction for the newer call — 
But in the mother's heart found room for all ! 

Caeoline Noeton 



TO GEORGE M • 

Yes, I do love thee well, my child ! 
Albeit mine 's a wandering mind ; 
But never, darling, hast thou smiled 
Or breathed a wish that did not find 
A ready echo in my heart. 
What hours I 've held thee on my knee, 
Thy httle rosy lips apart ! 
Or, when asleep, I 've gazed on thee 
And with old tunes sung thee to rest. 
Hugging thee closely to my bosom ; 
For thee my very heart hath blest, 
My joy, my care, my blue-eyed blossom ! 
Thomas Miller 



MOTHER'S LOYE. 



iy£ 



MOTHER'S LOYE. 

He sang so wildly, did the boy, 

That yon could never tell 

If 't was a madman's voice you heard, 

Or if the spirit of a bird 

Within his heart did dwell — 

A bird that dallies with his voice 

Among the matted branches ; 

Or on the free blue air his note, 

To pierce, and fall, and rise, and float, 

With bolder utterance launches. 

None ever was so sweet as he. 

The boy that wildly sang to me ; 

Though toilsome was the way and long, 

He led me, not to lose the song. 

But when again we stood beloW 

The unhidden sky, his feet 

Grew slacker, and his note more slow, 

But more than doubly sweet. 

He led me then a little way 

Athwart the barren moor, 

And there he stayed, and bade me stay, 

Beside a cottage door ; 

I could have stayed of my own will. 

In truth, my eye and heart to fill 

With the sweet sight which I saw there, 

At the dwelling of the cottager. 

A little in the doorway sitting. 
The mother plied her busy knitting ; 
And her cheek so softly smiled, 
You might be sure, although her gaze 
Was on the meshes of the lace. 
Yet her thoughts were with her child. 

But when the boy had heard her voice. 
As o'er her work she did rejoice. 
His became silent altogether ; 
And slyly creeping by the wall. 
He seized a single plume, let fall 
By some wild bird of longest feather ; 
And all a-tremble with his freak, 
He touched her hghtly on the cheek. 

Oh what a loveliness her eyes 
Gather m that one moment's space, 



While peeping round the post she spies 
Her darhng's laughing face I 
Oh mother's love is glorifying, 
On the cheek like sunset lying ; 
In the eyes a moistened light, 
"Softer than the moon at night ! 

Thomas Buebidge. 



THE PET LAMB. 



A PASTOEAL. 



The dew was falling fast, the stars began to 

bhnk; 
I heard a voice; it said, *' Drink, pretty 

creatm^e, drink ! " 
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I 

espied 
A snow-white mountain-lamb with a maiden 

at its side. 



Nor sheep nor kine were near ; the lamb was 

aU alone. 
And by a slender cord was tethered to a 

stone ; 
With one knee on the grass did the little 

maiden kneel. 
While to that mountain-lamb she gave its 

evening meal. 



The lamb, while from her hand he thus his 

supper took. 
Seemed to feast with head and ears ; and his 

tail with pleasure shook. 
"Drink, pretty creatm*e, drink!" she said, 

in such a tone 
That I almost received her heart into my own, 

'T was little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of 

beauty rare I 
I watched them with delight: they were a 

lovely pair. 
Kow with her empty can the maiden turned 

away; 
But ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps 

did she stay. 



134 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Right towards the lamb she looked; and 
from a shaay piace 

I unobserved could see the workings of her 
face. 

If nature to her tongue could measured num- 
bers bring, 

Tlius, thouglit I, to her lamb that little maid 
mi<2:ht sino; : — 



^'What ails thee, young one? what? Why 

pull so at thy cord ? 
Is it not well with thee? well both for bed 

and board ? 
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass 

can be ; 
Rest, little young one, rest ; what is 't that 

aileth thee ? 

''What is it thou wouldst seek? What is 

wanting to thy heart? 
Thy limbs, are they not strong ? And beau- 

tilul thou art. 
PL IS grass is tender grass; these flowers they 

have no peers ; 
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy 

ears! 



^'If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch 

thy woollen chain — 
This beech is standing by, its covert thou 

canst gain ; 
For rain and mountain-storms — the like thou 

need'st not fear ; 
The rain and storm are things that scarcely 

can come here. 



' Rest, little young one, rest ; thou hast forgot 

the day 
When ray father found thee first in places far 

away ; 
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert 

owned by none, 
fVnd thy mother from thy side for evermore 

was gone. 



• lie took thee in his arras, and in pity 
brought thee home : 



A blessed day for thee ! Then whither w ouldst 

thou roam ? 
A faithful nurse thou hast — the dam that did 

thee yean 
Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could 

have been. 



"Thou know'st that twice a day I have 

brought thee in this can 
Fresh water from the bi'ook, as clear as ever 

ran; 
And twice in the day, when the ground is 

wet with dew, 
I bring thee draughts of milk — warm milk it 

is, and new. 



" Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout ay 

they are now ; 
Then I '11 yoke thee to my cart like a pony 

in the plough. 
My playmate thou shalt be; and when the 

wind is cold. 
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shiiil 

be thy fold. 



"It will not, will not rest! — Poor creature, 
can it be 

That 't is thy mother's heart which is work- 
ing so in thee ? 

Things that I know not of belike to thee are 
dear, 

And dreams of things which thou canst nei- 
ther see nor hear. 



" Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green 

and fair ! 
I 've heard of fearful winds and darkness that 

come there ; 
Tlie little brooks, that seem all pastime and 

all play, 
When they are angry roar like lions for their 

prey. 

"Here thou need'st not dread the raven hi 

the sky ; 
N^ight and day thou art safe — our cottage ir 

hard by. 



TO MY DAUGHTER. 



135 



Why bleat so aft(5r me ? "Why pull so at thy 

chain ? 
Sleep — and at break of day I will come to 

thee again ! '• 



— As homeward through the lane I went with 

lazy feet, 
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat ; 
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line 

by hne. 
That but half of it was hers, and one-half of 

it was mine. . 



Again and once again, did I repeat the song ; 

'* Nay," said I, " more than half to the dam- 
sel must belong. 

For she looked with such a look, and she 
spake with such a tone, 

Tliat I almost received her heart into my 
own." 

William Wokdsworth. 



TO MY DAUGHTER, 



ON HER BIRTHDAY. 



Dear Fanny ! nine long years ago, 
While yet the morning sun was low, 
And rosy with the eastern glow 

The landscape smiled ; 
Whilst lowed the newly-wakened herds- 
Sweet as the early song of birds, 
I heard those first, delightful words, 

" Thou hast a child ! " 



Along with that uprising dew 

Tears glistened in my eyes, though few. 

To hail a dawning quite as new 

To me, as Time : 
It was not sorrow — not annoy — 
But like a happy maid, though coy. 
With grief-like welcome, even Joy 

Forestalls its prime. 



III. 

So may'st thou live, dear ! many years, 

In all the bliss that life endears, 

Not without smiles, nor yet from tears, 

Too strictly kept. 

When first thy infant littleness 

I folded in my fond caress. 

The greatest proof of happiness 

Was this — I wept. 

Thomas Hood 



LITTLE CHILDREN. 

Sporting through the forest wide ; 
Playing by the waterside ; 
Wandering o'er the heathy fells ; 
Down within the woodland dells ; 
All among the mountains wild, 
Dwelleth many a little child I 
In the baron's hall of pride; 
By the poor man's dull fireside : 
'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean. 
Little children may be seen. 
Like the flowers that spring up tair, 
Bright and countless everywhere ! 
In the far isles of the main ; 
In the desert's lone domain ; 
In the savage mountain-glen, 
'Mong the tribes of swarthy men ; 
Wheresoever a foot hath gone ; 
Wheresoe'er the sun hath shone 
On a league of peopled ground, 
Little children may be found ! 
Blessings on them ! they in me 
Move a kindly sympathy, 
With their wishes, hopes, and feai*s ; 
With their laughter and their tears; 
With their wonder so intense, 
And their small experience ! 
Little children, not alone 
On the wide earth are ye known, 
'Mid its labors and its cares, 
'Mid its sufferings and its SDares; 
Free from sorrow, free from strife, 
In the world of love and life. 
Where no sinful thing hath trod — 
In the presence of your God, 
Spotless, blameless, glorified — 
Little children, ye abide ! 

Mary IIov. nr 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



THE IDLE SHEPHERD BOYS. 

A PASTOEAL. 

Ths valley rings with mirth and joy ; 

Among the hills the echoes play 

A. never, never-ending song, 

To welcome in the May. 

The magpie chatters with delight ; 

The mountain raven's youngling brood 

Have left the mother and the nest ; 

A*nd they go rambling east and west 

In search of their own food ; 

Or through the glittering vapors dart 

Fn very wantonness of heart. 

Beneath a rock, upon the grass. 
Two boys are sitting in the sun ; 
Their work, if any work they have, 
Is out of mind, — or done. 
On pipes of sycamore they play 
The fragments of a Christian hymn ; 
Or with that plant which in our dale 
We call stag-horn, or fox's tail. 
Their rusty hats they trim : 
And thus, as happy as the day. 
Those shepherds wear the time away. 

Along the river's stony marge 

The sand-lark chants a joyous song; 

The thrush is busy in the wood. 

And carols loud and strong. 

A thousand lambs are on the rocks. 

All newly born ! both earth and sk}- 

Keep jubilee, and more than all. 

Those boys with their green coronal ; 

They never hear the cry. 

That plaintive cry ! which up the hiL 

Gomes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll. 

Said Walter, leaping from the ground, 
''Down to the stump of yon old yew 
VYe'll for our whistles run a race." 

Away the shepherds flew ; 

They leapt — they ran — and when they came 
Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, 
Seeing that he should lose the prize, 
" Stop ! " to his comrade Walter cries, 
lames stopped with no good will. 
Said Walter then, exulting, " Here 
You'll find a task for half a year. 



" Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross,— 

Come on, and tread where I shall tread " 

The other took him at his word. 

And followed as he led. 

It was a spot which you may see 

If ever you to Langdale go ; 

Into the chasm a mighty block 

Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock • 

The gulf is deep below ; 

And, in a basin black and small, 

Receives a lofty waterfall. 

With staff in hand across the cleft 

The challenger pursued his march ; 

And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained 

The middle of the arch. 

When list ! he hears a piteous moan. 

Again ! — ^his heart within him dies ; 

His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost. 

He totters, pallid as a ghost. 

And, looking down, espies 

A lamb, that in the pool is pent 

Within that black and frightful rent. 

The lamb had slipped into the stream, 

And safe without a bruise or wound 

The cataract had borne him down 

Into the gulf profound. 

His dam had seen him when he fell — 

She saw him down the torrent borne ; 

And, with all a mother's love. 

She from the lofty rocks above 

Sent forth a cry forlorn ; 

The lamb, still swimming round and round 

Made answer in that plaintive sound. 

When he had learnt what thing it was 

That sent this rueful cry, I w^een 

The boy recovered heart, and told 

The sight which he had seen. 

Both gladly now deferred their task ; 

Nor w^as there wanting other aid : 

A Poet, one who loves the brooks 

Far better than the sages' books. 

By chance had hither strayed ; 

And there the helpless lamb he found 

By those huge rocks encompassed round. 

He drew it from the troubled pool, 
And brought it forth into the light ; 
I The shepherds met him wath his charp^e. 



^ 



1 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 



187 



A.n unexpected sight ! 

Trito their arms the lamb they took, 

Whose life and limbs the flood had spared ; 

Then up the steep ascent they hied, 

And placed him at his mother-s side ; 

A rid gently did the Bard 

riiose idle shepherd boys upbraid, 

Au.l bade them better mind their trade. 

William Woedswoeth. 



THE SHEPHERD BOY. 

Like some vision olden 

Of far other time, 
When the age was golden, 

In the young world's prime, 
Is thy soft pipe ringing, 

lonely shepherd boy : 
What song art thou singing. 

In thy youth and joy? 

Or art thou complaining 

Of thy lowly lot. 
And thine own disdaining. 

Dost ask what thou hast not ? 
Of the future dreaming. 

Weary of the past. 
For the present scheming — 

All but what thou hast. 

No, thou art delighting 

In thy summer home ; 
Where the flowers inviting 

Tempt the bee to roam ; 
Where the cowslip, bending 

With its golden bells. 
Of each glad hour's ending 

With a sweet chime tells. 

All wild creatures love him 

When he is alone ; 
Every bird above him 

Sings its softest tone. 
Thankful to high Heaven, 

Humble in thy joy, 
Much to thee is given. 

Lowly shepherd boy. 

Ljetitia Elizabeth La.ndon. 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 

When the corn-fields and meadow*; 

Are pearled with the dew. 
With the first sunny shadow 

Walks little Boy Blue. 

Oh the ISTymphs and the Graces 

Still gleam on his eyes. 
And the kind fairy faces 

Look down from the skies ; 

And a secret revealing 

Of life within life. 
When feeling meets feeling 

In musical strife ; 

A winding and weaving 

In flowers and in trees, 
A floating and heaving 

In sunlight and breeze ; 

A striving and soaring, 

A gladness and grace, 
Make him kneel half adoring 

The God in the place. 

Then amid the live shadows 

Of lambs at their play, 
Where the kine scent the meadows 

With breath like the May, 

He stands in the splendor 

That waits on the morn, 
And a music more tender 

Distils from his horn ; 

And he weeps, he rejoices, 

He prays ; nor in vain. 
For soft loving voices 

Will answer again ; 

And the Nymphs and the Graces 
Still gleam through the dew, 

And kind fairy faces 
Watch little Boy Blue. 

Anonymous, 



188 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



LITTLE EED EIDmG HOOD. 

Come back, come back together, 

All ye fancies of the past. 
Ye days of April weather. 

Ye shadows that are cast 
By the haunted hours before ! 
Come back, come back, my Childhood ; 

Thou art summoned by a spell 
From the green leaves of the wildwood, 

From beside the charmed well, 

For Eed Riding Hood, the darling, 
The flower of fairy lore ! 

The fields were covered over 

"With colors as she went ; 
Daisy, buttercup, and clover 

Below her footsteps bent ; 

Summer shed its shining store ; 
She was happy as she pressed them 

Beneath her little feet ; 
She plucked them and caressed them ; 

They were so very sweet. 

They had never seemed so sweet before, 
To Red Riding Hood, the darling. 
The flower of fairy lore. 

How the heart of childhood dances 

Upon a sunny day ! 
It has its own romances. 
And a wide, wide world have they ! 
A world where Phantasie is king. 
Made all of eager dreaming ; 

When once grown up and tall — 
IiTow is the time for scheming — 
Then we shall do them all ! 

Do such pleasant fancies spring 
For Red Riding Hood, the darling, 
The flower of fairy lore ? 

3he seems like an ideal love, 
The poetry of childhood shown, 

A.nd yet loved with a real love. 
As if she were our own — 

A younger sister for the heart ; 

Like the woodland pheasant. 
Her hair is brown and bright ; 

A nd her smile is pleasant, 



AVith its rosy light. 
Never can the memory part 
With Red Riding Hood, the darling, 
The flower of fairy lore. 

Did the painter, dreaming 

In a morning hour, 
Catch the fairy seeming 
Of this fairy flower ? 
Winning it with eager eyes 
From the old enchanted stories, 
Lingering with a long delight 
On the unforgotten glories 
Of the infant sight ? 

Giving us a sweet surprise 
In Red Riding Hood, the darling, 
The flower of fairy lore ? 

Too long in the meadow staying, 

Where the cowslip bends. 
With the buttercups delaying 
As with early friends. 

Did the little maiden stay. 
Sorrowful the tale for us ; 

We, too, loiter mid life's flowers, 
A little while so glorious. 
So soon lost in darker hours. 

All love lingering on their way, 
Like Red Riding Hood, the darling. 
The flower of fairy lore. 

L^TITIA ElIZABBTH L AND ON 



1 

J 



THE GAMBOLS OF CHILDREN. 

Down the dimpled green-sward dancing, 
Bursts a flaxen-headed bevy-^ 

Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing. 
Love's irregular little levy. 

Rows of liquid eyes in laughter. 

How they glimmer, how they quiver 1 

Sparkling one another after, 
Like bright ripples on a river 

Tipsy band of rubious faces, 

Flushed with Joy's ethereal spirit, 

Make your mocks and sly grimaces 
At Love's self, and do not fear it. 

Geoboe DABL>!V. 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 



isy 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELI¥. 



Hamelin^ Town 's in Brunswick, 
Bj famous Hanover city ; 

The river Weser, deep and wide, 

Washes its wall on the southern side ; 

A pleasanter spot you never spied ; 
But when begins my ditty, 

Almost five hundred years ago. 

To see the townsfolk suffer so 
From vermin, was a pity. 

II. 
Eats ! 
They fought the dogs, and killed the cats. 

And hit the babies in the cradles. 
And ate the cheeses out of the vats, 

And licked the soup from the cook's own 
ladles. 
Split open the kegs of salted sprats. 
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, 
And even spoiled the women's chats, 
By drowning their speaking 
"With shrieking and squeaking 
h\ fifty different sharps and flats. 

III. 
At last the people in a body 

To the Town Hall came flocking : 
'' 'T is clear," cried they, " our Mayor's a 
noddy ; 

And as for our Corporation— shocking 
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine 
For dolts that can't or won't determine 
What's best to rid us of our vermin ! 
You hope, because you 're old and obese, 
To find in the furry civic robe ease ? 
Rouse up, Sirs ! Give your brains a racking 
To find the remedy we 're lacking. 
Or, sure as fate, we '11 send you packing ! " 
At this the Mayor and Corporation 
Ouaked with a mighty consternation. 



Aji hour they sate m counsel — 
At length the Mayor broke silence : 

^ For a guilder I 'd my ermine gown sell ; 
I wish I were a mile hence ! 

It 's eas5^ to bid one rack one's brain — 

I'm sure my poor head aches again. 



I 've scratched it so, and all in vain. 

Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap ! " 

Just as he said this, what should hap 

At the chamber door but a gentle tap ? 

"Bless us," cried the Mayor, " what's that? '" 

(With the Corporation as he sat. 

Looking little though wondrous fat ; 

Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister 

Than a too-long-opened oyster, 

Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous 

For a plate of turtle, green and glutinous,) 

" Only a scraping of shoes on the mat ? 

Anything like the sound of a rat 

Makes my heart go pit-a-pat ! " 

V. 

"Come in!" — the Mayor cried, looking 

bigger ; 
And in did come the strangest figure : 
His queer long coat from heel to head 
Was half of yellow and half of red ; 
And he himself was tall and thin ; 
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin ; 
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin ; 
IsTo tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, 
But lips where smiles went out and in — 
There was no guessing his kith and kin ! 
And nobody could enough admire 
The tall man and his quaint attire. 
Quoth one : " It 's as my great-grandsire. 
Starting up at the trump of doom's tone. 
Had walked this way from his painted tomb- 
stone ! " 

VI. 

He advanced to the council-table : 

And, " Please your honours," said he, "I'lxi 

able. 
By means of a secret charm, to draw 
All creatures living beneath the sun, 
That creep, or swim, or fly, or run, 
After me so as you never saw ! 
And I chiefly use my charm 
On creatures that do people liarm — 
The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper — 
And people call me the Pied Piper." 
(And here they noticed round his necl^ 
A scarf of red and yellow stripe, 
To match with his coat of the self same 

check ; 
And at the scarf's end hung a pipe ; 



140 



POExMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



A.nd his fingers, thev noticed, were ever 

straying 
zVs if impatient to be playing 
Upon this pipe, as low it dangled 
Over his vesture so old-fangled.) 

Yet," said he, " poor piper as I am, 
[n Tartary I freed the Cham, 
Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats ; 
I eased in Asia the N'izam 
Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats ; 
And, as for what your brain bewilders — 
If I can rid your town of rats. 
Will you give me a thousand guilders ? " 
'^ One ? fifty thousand I " — was the exclamation 
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. 



Into the street the Piper stept. 

Smiling first a little smile. 
As if he knew what magic slept 

In his quiet pipe the Avhile ; 
Then, like a musical adept. 
To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, 
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, 
Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled ; 
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, 
You heard as if an army muttered ; 
And the muttering grew to a grumbling ; 
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rum- 
bling ; 
And out of the houses the rats came tum- 
bling. 
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, 
Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, 
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, 

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, 
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers ; 

Families by tens and dozens. 
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives — 
Followed the Piper for their lives. 
From street to street he piped advancing, 
And step for step they followed dancing, 
Until they came to the river "Weser 
Wherein all plunged and perished 
— Save one who, stout as Julius Cassar, 
Swam across and lived to carry 
(As he the manuscript he cherished) 
To Rat-land home his corimentary, 
Which was : " At the first shrill notes of the 

pipe, 
I heard a sound as of scraping :rip^, 



And putting apples, wondrous ripe, 

Into a cider-press's gripe — 

And a moving away of pickle- tub -boards, 

And a leaving a,jar of conserve-cupboards. 

And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks^ 

And a breaking the hoops of butter-caskj? ^ 

And it seemed as if a voice 

(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery 

Is breathed) called out, O rats, rejoice ! 

The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! 

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon^ 

Breakfast, supper, dinner, lUncheon ! 

And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, 

All ready staved, like a great sun shone 

Glorious, scarce an inch before me. 

Just as methought it said. Come, bore me ^ 

— I found the Weser rolling o'er me." 

VIII. 

You should have heard the Hamelin people 
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple ; 
" Go," cried the Mayor, " and get long poles ! 
Poke out the nests and block up the holes I 
Consult with carpenters and builders, 
And leave in our town not even a trace 
Of the rats ! " — when suddenly, up the face 
Of the Piper perked in the market-place, > 

With a, " First, if you please, my thousand I 
guilders ! " f 

IX. 

A thousand guilders ! The Mayor looked 

blue; 
So did the Corporation too. 
For council dinners made rare havock 
With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock : 
And half the money would replenish 
Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenisli. 7 

To pay this sum to a wandering fellow \ 

With a gipsy coat of red and yellow ! 
" Beside," quoth the Mayor, w^ith a knowing 

wink, 
" Our business was done at the river's brink; 1 
We saw witli our eyes the vermin sink, f 

And what's dead can't come to life, I think. 
So, friend, we 're not the folks to shrink 
From the duty of giving you something fo' 

drink. 
And a matter of money to pur in your poke ; 
But, as for the guilders, what we spoke 
Of I hem, as you very well know, was in ioke 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 



141 



?>eside. our losses have made us thrifty ; 
A. thousand guilders ! Come, take fifty ! " 

Tne piper's face fell, and he cried, 

" 1^0 trifling ! I can't wait ! beside, 

I 've promised to visit by dinner time 

Bagdat, and accept the prime 

Of the head cook's pottage, all he 's rich in, 

For having Ipft, in the Caliph's kitchen. 

Of a nest of scorpion's no survivor — 

With him I proved no bargain-driver; 

With you, don't think I '11 bate a stiver ! 

And folks who put me in a passion 

May find me pipe to another fashion." 

XI. 

" How ? " cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll 

brook 
Being worse treated than a cook ? 
Insulted by a lazy ribald 
With idle pipe and vesture piebald ? 
You threaten us, fellow ? Do your worst. 
Blow your pipe there till you burst ! " 

XII. 

Once more he stept into the street ; 
And to his lips again 

Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane ; 
And ere he blew three notes (such sweet 

Soft notes as yet musician's cunning 
IN'ever gave the enraptured air) 

There was a rustling that seemed like a bus- 
tling 

Of merry crowds justling at pitching and 
hustling ; 

Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes 
clattering. 

Little hands clapping, and little tongues 
chattering ; 

And, like fowls in a fiirm-yard when barley 
is scattering. 

Out came the children running : 

All the little boys and girls, 

With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls. 

And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, 

Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after 

The wonderful music with shouting and 
htughter. 



XIII. 

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood 
As if they were changed into blocks of wood. 
Unable to move a step, or cry 
To the children merrily skipping by — 
And could only follow with the eye 
That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. 
But how the Mayor was on the rack. 
And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, 
As the Piper turned from the High Street 
To where the Weser rolled its waters 
Right in the way of their sons and daughters I 
However, he turned from South to West, 
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed. 
And after him the children pressed ; 
Great was the joy in every breast. 
" He never can cross that mighty top ! 
He 's forced to let the piping drop. 
And we shall see our children stop ! " 
When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side, 
A wondrous portal opened wide. 
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed ; 
And the Piper advanced and the childrcE 

followed ; 
And when all were in, to the very last. 
The door in the mountain side shut fast. 
Did I say all ? ISTo ! One was lame. 
And could not dance the whole of the way ; 
And in after years, if you would blame 
His sadness, he was used to say, — 
"It's dull in our town since my.playmatee 

left! 
I can't forget that I'm bereft 
Of all the pleasant sights they see. 
Which the Piper also promised me ; 
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, 
Joining the town and just at hand, 
Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, 
And flowers put forth a fairer hue. 
And every thing was strange and new ; 
The sparrows were brighter than peacor-kf 

here. 
And their dogs outran our fallow deer, 
And honey-bees had lost their stings, 
Aifid horses were born with eagles' wings ; 
And just as I became assured 
My lame foot would be speedily cured, 
The music stopped and I stood still, 
And found myself outside the Hill, 
Left alone against my wilL - 



[42 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



To go now limping as before, 

Ajid never hear of that country more ! ' 



XIV- 

Alas, alas for Hamelin ! 

There came into many a burgher^s pate 

A text which says, that Heaven's gate 

Opes to the rich at as easy rate 
As the needle's eye takes a camel in ! 
The Mayor sent East, West, ISTorth, and 

South, 
To offer the piper by word of mouth, 

Wherever it was men's lot to find him, 
Silver and gold to his heart's content, 
If he 'd only return the way he went, 

And bring the children behind him. 
But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor. 
And piper and dancers were gone for ever, 
They made a decree that lawyers never 

Should think their records dated duly 
If, after the day of the month and year, 
These words did not as well appear, 
" And so long after what happened here 

On the Twenty-second of July, 
Thirteen Hundred and Seventy-six : " 
And the better in memory to fix 
The place of the Children's last retreat 
They called it the Pied Piper's Street — 
Where any one playing on pipe or tabor 
Was sure for the future to lose his labor. 
N"or suffered they hostelry or tavern 

To shock with mirth a street so solemn ; 
But opposite the place of the cavern 

They wrote the story on a column. 
And on the Great Church window painted 
The same, to make the world acquainted 
How their children were stolen away ; 
And there it stands to this very day. 
And I must not omit to say 
That in Transylvania there 's a tribe 
Of alien people that ascribe 
The outlandish ways and dress - 
On which their neighbors lay such stress 
To their fathers and mothers having risen 
Out of some subterranean prison 
Into which they were trepanned 
Long time ago, in a mighty band, 
Dut of Hamelin town in Brunswick land. 
Rut how or why, they don't understand. 



So, Willy, let you and me be wipers 

Of scores out with all men — especially pipers ; 

And, whether they pipe us free from rats or 

from mice. 
If we 've promised them aught, let us keep 

our promise. 

EOBEET BeOWHINO. 



A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. 

'T WAS the night before Christmas, when all 

through the house 
Xot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; 
The stockings were hung by the chimney with 

care, 
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be 

there ; 
The children were nestled all snug in their 

beds. 
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their 

heads ; 
And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my 

cap. 
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's 

nap— ij 

When out on the lawn there arose such a f| 

clatter, 
I sprang from my bed to see what was the 

matter. 
Away to the window I flew like a flash. 
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 
The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen 

snow. 
Gave a lustre of mid-day to objects below; 
When, what to my wondering eyes should 

appear, 
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein 

deer, 
With a little old driver, so lively and quick, 
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick, 
More rapid than eagles his coursers they 

came, 
And he whistled, and shouted, and called 

them by name ; 
" Now, Dasher ! now, Dancer ! now, Praucer 

and Vixen ! 
On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donder and 

Blitzen — 



SATURDAY AFTERNOON 



14s 



To the top of the porch, to the top of the 

wall! 
N'ow, dash awaj, dash away, dash away 

all!" 
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane 

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to 

the sky, 
So, up to the house-top the coursers they 

flew, 
With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Mcho- 

las too. 
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof 
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. 
As I drew in my head, and was turning 

around, 
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a 

bound. 
He was dressed all in fur from his head to 

his foot. 
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes 

and soot ; 
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, 
And he looked like a pedler just opening his 

pack. 
His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how 

merry ! 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a 

cherry ; 
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a 

bow. 
And the beard on his chin was as white as 

the snow. 
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, 
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a 

wreath. 
He had a broad face and a little round belly 
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full 

of jelly. 
He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old 

elf; 
' And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of 

myself. 
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head. 
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 
He spoke not a word, but went straight to 

his work, 
And filled all the stockings ; then turned with 

a jerk. 
And laying his finger aside of his nose, 
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. 



He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a 

whistle. 
And away they all flew like the down of a 

thistle ; 
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of 

sight, 

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good 

night ! " 

Clement C. Mooue 



SATURDAY AFTERNOON. 

I LOVE to look on a scene like this. 

Of wild and careless play. 
And persuade myself that I am not old, 

And my locks are not yet gray ; 
For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, 

And makes his pulses fly, 
To catch the thrill of a happy voice. 

And the light of a pleasant eye, 

I have walked the world for fourscore yearf?, 

And they say that I am old — 
That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death. 

And my years are well-nigh told. 
It is very true — it is very true — 

I am old, and I " bide my time ; " 
But my heart will leap at a scene like this. 

And I half renew my prime. 

Play on ! play on ! I am with you tli ere, 

In the midst of your merry ring ; 
I can feel the thrill of the daring jump. 

And the rush of the breathless swing. 
I hide with you in the fragrant hay, 

And I whoop the smothered call. 
And my feet slip up on the seedy floor, 

And I care not for the fixll. 

I am willing to die when my time shall como 

And I shall be glad to go — 
For the Avorld, at best, is a weary place, 

And my pulse is getting low ; 
But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail 

In treading its gloomy way ; 
And it wiles my heart from its dreariness 

To see tlie young so gay. 

Nathanikl Parker WiLua 



144 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

Ah me ! full sorely is my heart forlorn, 
To think how modest worth neglected lies, 
While partial Fame doth with her blasts 

adorn 
Such deeds alone as pride and pomp disguise ; 
Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprise. 
Lend me thy clarion, goddess ! let me try 
To sound the praise of merit, ere it dies. 
Such as I oft have chaunced to espy, 
Lost in the dreary shades of dull obscurity. 

In every vdlage marked with little spire. 
Embowered in trees, and hardly known to 

Fame, 
There dwells, in lowly shed and mean attire, 
A matron old, whom we Schoolmistress 

name, 
Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame ; 
They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent. 
Awed by the power of this relentless dame; 
And ofttimes, on vagaries idly bent. 
For unkempt hair, or task unconned, are 

sorely shent. 

And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree. 
Which Learning near her little dome did 

stow. 
Whilom a twig of small regard to see. 
Though now so wide its waving branches flow. 
And work the simple vassals mickle woe ; 
For not a wind might curl the leaves that 

blew. 
But their limbs shuddered, and their pulse 

beat low ; 
And as they looked, they found their horror 

grew. 
And shaped it into rods, and tingled at the 



So have I seen Twho has not, may conceive) 
A lifeless phantom near a garden placed ; 
So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave, 
Of sport, of song, of pleasure, of repast; 
They start, they stare, they wheel, they look 

aghast ; 
Sad servitude ! such comfortless annoy 
May no bold Briton's riper age e'er taste I 



No superstition clog his dance of joy, 

No vision empty, vain, his native bliss destroy. 

Near to this dome is found a patch so green, 
On which the tribe their gambols do display ; 
And at the door imprisoning-board is seen, 
Lest weakly wights of smaller size should 

stray. 
Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day ! 
The noises intermixed, which thence resound, 
Do Learning's little tenement betray ; 
Where sits the dame, disguised in look pro- 
found. 
And eyes her fairy throng, and turns hev 
wheel around. 

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, 
Emblem right meet of decency does yield ; 
Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe. 
As is the hare-bell that adorns the field ; 
And in her hand for sceptre, she does wield 
Tway birchen sprays, with anxious fears en- 
twined. 
With dark distrust, and sad repentance filled, 
And stedfast hate, and sharp affliction joined, 
And fury uncontrolled, and chastisement un- 
kind. 

Few but have kenned, in semblance meet por- 
trayed. 
The childish faces of old Eol's train ; 
Libs, Notus, Auster ; these in frowns arrayed, 
How then would fare or earth, or sky, or 

main. 
Were the stern god to give his slaves the 

rein? 
And were not she rebellious breasts to quell. 
And were not she her statutes to maintain. 
The cot no more, I ween, were deemed the 

cell. 
Where comely peace of mind and decent- 
order dwell. 

A russet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown; 
A russet kirtle fenced the nipping air ; 
'T was simple russet, but it was her own ; 
'T was her own country bred the flock so 

fair ; 
'T was her own labor did the fleece prepare ; 
And, sooth to say, her pupils, ranged around. 
Through pious awe did terra it passing rare : 



THE SOHOOLMISTHESS. 



145 



For they in gaping wonderment abound, 
And think, no doubt, she been the greatest 
wight on ground ! 

Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth, 
Ne pompous title did debauch her ear ; 
Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt, forsooth, 
Or dame, the sole additions she did hear ; 
Yet these she challenged, these she held right 

dear; 
ISTe would esteem him act as mought behove. 
Who should not honored eld with these re- 
vere; 
For never title yet so mean could prove. 
But there was eke a mind which did that 
title love. 

One ancient hen she took delight to feed, 
The plodding pattern of the busy dame ; 
Which, ever and anon, impelled by need, 
Into her school, begirt with chickens, came ! 
Such favor did her past deportment claim ; 
And if ISTeglect had lavished on the ground 
Fragment of bread, she would collect the same ; 
For well she knew, and quaintly could ex- 
pound. 
What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb 
she found. 

Herbs, too, she knew, and well of each could 

speak. 
That in her garden sipped the silvery dew, 
Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy 

streak ; 
But herbs for use and physic not a few. 
Of grey renown, within these borders grew ; 
The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme. 
Fresh balm, and marygold of cheerful hue, 
The lowly gill, thaj never dares to climb ; 
And more I fain would sing, disdaining here 

to rhyme. 

Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung, 

That gives dim eyes to Avander leagues 

around ; 
And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue ; 
And plantain ribbed, that heals the reaper's 

wound ; 
Aud marjoram sweet, in shepherd's posie 
. found : 

23 



And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom 
Shall be ere while in arid bundles bound, 
To lurk amid the labors of her loom, 
And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle 
rare perfume. 

And here trim rosemarine, that whiloiL 

crowned 
The daintiest garden of the proudest peer, 
Ere, driven from its envied site, it found 
A sacred shelter for its branches here ; 
Where edged with gold its glittering skirts 

appear. 
Oh wassel days ! O customs meet and well ! 
Ere this was banished from its lofty sphere ! 
Simplicity then sought this humble cell, 
Nor ever would she more with thane and 

lordling dwell. 

Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve, 
Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth did 

mete. 
If winter 't were, she to her hearth did 

cleave, 
But in her garden found a summer-seat ; 
Sweet melody ! to hear her then repeat 
How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king, 
While taunting foemen did a song entreat. 
All for the nonce untuning every string, 
Uphung their useless lyres — small heart had 

they to sing. 

For she was just, and friend to virtuous lore, 
And passed much time in truly virtuous deed ; 
And in those elfin ears would oft deplore 
The times when truth by Popish rage did 

bleed. 
And tortuous death was true devotion's 

meed, 
And simple Faith in iron chains did mourn. 
That nould on wooden image place her creed ; 
And lawny saints in smouldering flames did 

burn ; 
Ah, dearest Lord, forefend tliilk days should 

e'er return I 

In elbow-chair, like that of Scottisli stem 
By the sharp tooth of cankering eld defaced- 
In which, when he receives his diadem. 
Our sovereign prince and liefest liege is 
placed, 



[46 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



flie matron sate, and some with rank she 

graced, 
(The source of children's and of courtiers' 

pride !) 
Redressed affronts, for vile affronts there 

passed ; 
And warned them not the fretful to deride, 
But love each other dear, whatever them 

betide. 

Right well she knew each temper to descry ; 
To thwart the proud, and the submiss to 

raise ; 
Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high. 
And some entice ^ith pittance small of 

praise ; 
And other some with baleful sprig she frays ; 
E'en absent, she the reins of power doth hold, 
While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she 

sways ; 
Forewarned if little bird their pranks behold, 
T will whisper in her ear and all the scene 

unfold. 

Lo ! now with state she utters the command ; 
Eftsoous the urchins to their tasks repair ; 
Theii books of stature small they take in 

hand, 
Which with pellucid horn secured are. 
To save from fingers wet the letters fair ; 
The work so gay, that on their back is seen, 
St. George's high achievements doth declare ; 
On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been. 
Kens the forthcoming rod — unpleasing sight, 

I ween ! 

Ah luckless he, and born beneath the beam 
Of evil star ! it irks me while I write ; 
As erst the bard by Mulla's silver stream, 
Oft as he told of deadly, dolorous plight, 
Sighed as he sung, and did in tears indite. 
For, brandishing the rod, she doth begin 
To loose the brogues, the stripling's late de- 
light ! 
And down they drop ; appears his dainty 

skin, 
Fair as the furry coat of whitest ermilin. 

O ruthful scene ! when from a nook obscure. 
His little sister doth his peril see ; 
All playful as she sate, she grows demure ; 
She finds full soon her wonted spirits flee ; 



She meditates a prayer to set him free , 
ISTor gentle pardon could this dame deny, 
(If gentle pardon could with dames agree) 
To her sad grief, which swells in either eye, 
And wrings her so that all for pity she co\iV\ 
die. 

jSTo longer can she now her shrieks command,. 
And hardly she forbears, through awful fear. 
To rushen forth, and with presumptuous 

hand 
To stay harsh justice in his mid-career. 
On thee she calls, on thee, her parent dear ! 
(Ah ! too remote to ward the shameful blow !) 
She sees no kind domestic visage near ; 
And soon a flood of tears begins to flow, 
And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe. 

But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may 

trace ? 
Or what device his loud laments explain ? 
The form uncouth of his disguised face ? 
The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? 
The plenteous shower that does his cheok 

distain ? 
When he in abject wise implores the dame, 
l^e hopeth aught of sweet reprieve to gain ; 
Or when from high she levels well her aim. 
And through the thatch his cries each falling 

stroke proclaim. 

The other tribe, aghast, with sore dismay, 
Attend, and con their tasks with mickle care; 
By turns, astonied, every twig survey, 
And from their fellow's hateful wounds be- 
ware, 
Knowing, I wis, how each the same may 

share, 
Till fear has taught them a performance meet, 
And to the well-known chest the dame re- 
pair, 
Whence oft with sugared cates she doth theui 

greet. 
And ginger-bread y-rare ; now, certes, doubly 
sweet. 

See to their seats they hie with merry glee^ ^ 
And in beseemly order sitten there ; 
All but the wight of bum y-galied ; he 
Abhorreth bench, and stool, and fourm, and 
chair, 



THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 



147 



(Tliis hand in moutli y-fixed, that rends his 

hair ;) 
And eke with snubs profound, and heaving 

breast, 
Convulsions intermitting, doth declare 
His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust behest; 
And scorns her offered love, and shuns to be 

caressed. 

Elis face besprent with liquid crystal shines. 
Mis blooming ftice that seems a purple flower, 
Which low to earth its drooping head de- 
clines, 
All smeared and sullied by a vernal shower. 
Oh the hard bosoms of despotic power I 
All, all but she, the author of his shame. 
All, all but she, regret this mournful hour ; 
Yet hence the youth, and hence the flower 

shall claim. 
If so I deem aright, transcending worth and 
fame. 

Behind some door, in melancholy thought, 
Mindless of food, he, dreary caitiff! pines; 
Ne for his fellows' joyaunce careth aught. 
But to the wind all merriment resigns ; 
And deems it shame if he to peace inclines ; 
And many a sullen look askance is sent. 
Which for his dame's annoyance he designs ; 
And still the more to pleasure him she's bent. 
The more doth he perverse, her'haviour past 
resent. 

Ah me ! how much I fear lest pride it be ! 
But if that pride it be, which thus inspires, 
Beware, ye dames, with nice discernment see. 
Ye quench not too the sparks of noble fires. 
Ah ! better far than all the Muses' lyres. 
All coward arts, is valor's generous heat ; 
The firm fixt breast which fit and right re- 
quires. 
Like Vernon's patriot soul ! more justly great 
Til an craft that pimps for ill or flowery false 
deceit. 

Yet nursed with skill, what dazzling fruits 

appear I 
R'en now sagacious Foresight poiuts to show 
A little bench of heedless bishops here, 
\nd there a chancellor in embryo, 



Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be so. 
As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'ei 

shall die ! 
Though now he crawl along the ground so 

low, 
i^'or weeting how the Muse should soar on 

high, 
Wisheth, poor starveling elf! his paper kite 

may fly. 

And this perhaps, who, censuring the design, 
Low lays the house which that of cards doth 

build. 
Shall Dennis be ! if rigid Fate incline. 
And many an epic to his rage shall yield ; 
And many a poet quit th' Aonian field. 
And, soured by age, profound he shall ap- 
pear. 
As he who now with 'sdainful fury thrilled 
Surveys mine work ; and levels many a sneer, 
And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, "What 
stuff is here ? " 



And now Dan Phoebus gains the middle skic, 
And Liberty unbars her prison-door ; 
And like a rushing torrent out they fly. 
And now the grassy cirque had covered o'er 
With boisterous revel-rout and wild uproar ; 
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run ; 
Heaven shield their short-lived pastimes, I 

implore ! 
For well may freedom erst so dearly won, 
Appear to British elf more gladsome than 

the sun. 

Enjoy, poor imps ! enjoy your sportive trade, 
And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest flow- 
ers, 
For when my bones in grass-green sods arc 

laid; 
For never may ye taste more careless hours 
In knightly castles, or in ladies' bowers. 
Oh vain to seek delight in earthly thing ! 
But most in courts where proud Ambitioii 

towers ; 
Deluded wight! who weens fair peace am 

spring 
Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of 
king. 



U8 



POEMS OF CHILBEOOD 



See in eacli sprite some various bent appear ! 
These rudelj carol most incondite lay ; 
Those sauntering on the green, with jocund 

leer 
Salute the stranger passing on his way ; 
Some builden fragile tenements of clay ; 
Some to the standing lake their courses bend, 
With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to 

play ; 
Thilk to the hunter's savory cottage tend, 
In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite 

to spend. 

Here, as each season yields a different store, 
Each season's stores in order ranged been ; 
Apples with cabbage-net y-covered o'er, 
Galling full sore th' unmoneyed wight, are 

seen ; 
And goose-b'rie clad in livery red or green ; 
And here of lovely dye, the Catharine pear, 
Fine pear ! as lovely for thy juice, I ween : 
may no wight e'er pennyless come there. 
Lest smit with ardent love he pine with 

hopeless care! 

See ! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound. 
With thread so white in tempting posies ty'd. 
Scattering like blooming maid their glances 

round. 
With pampered look draw little eyes aside ; 
And must be bought, though penury betide. 
The plumb all azure and the nut all brown. 
And here each season do those cakes abide. 
Whose honored names th' inventive city 

own. 
Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's 

praises known. 

Admired Salopia ! that with venial pride 
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient 

wave, 
Famed for her loyal cares in perils tried. 
Her daughters lovely, and her striplings 

brave ; 
Ah! midst the rest, may flowers adorn his 

grave, 

Whose art did first these dulcet cates display ! 

A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave. 

Who cheerless o'er her darkhng region stray, 

Till Reason's morn arise, and light them on 

their way. 

William Shenstone. 



0;^" A DISTAiTT PROSPECT OF ETON 
COLLEGE. 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 

That crown the watery glade. 
Where grateful Science stiU adores 

Her Henry's holy shade ; 
And ye that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights the expanse belaw 

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, 
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers 

among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 

His silver winding way : 



Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! 

Ah, fields beloved in vain! — 
Where once my careless childhood strayed, 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
I feel the gales that from ye blow 
A momentary bliss bestow, 

As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
My weary soul they seem to soothe, 
And, redolent of joy and youth, 

To breathe a second spring. 

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race. 
Disporting on thy margent green. 

The paths of pleasure trace ; 
Who foremost now dehght to cleave, 
With phant arm, thy glassy wave ? 

The captive linnet which enthrall ? 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed. 

Or urge the flying ball ? 

While some, on urgent business bent, 

Their murmuring labors ply 
'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint 

To sweeten liberty ; 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their li-ttle reign, 

And unknown regions dare descry ; 
Still as they run they look behind, 
They hear a voice in every wind. 

And snatch a fearful joy. 

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 
Less pleasing when possest; 



4 

i 



i 



THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 



149 



Tlie tear forgot as soon as shed, 

The sunshine of the hreast : 
Tlieirs buxom health, of rosy hue. 
Wild wit, invention ever new, 

And lively cheer, of vigor born ; 
The thoughtless day, the easy night. 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light. 

That fly the approach of morn, 

Alas ! regardless of their doom, 

The little victims play ! 
No sense have they of ills to come, 

Nor care beyond to-day ; 
Yet see, how all around them wait 
The ministers of human fate. 

And black misfortune's baleful train ! 
Ah, show them where in ambush stand, 
To seize their prey, the murderous band ! 

Ah, tell them, they are men I 

These shall the fury passions tear. 

The vultures of the mind, 
Disdainful anger, pallid fear, 
Ajid shame that skulks behind ; 

Or pining love shall waste their youth, 
Or jealousy, with rankling tooth. 

That inly gnaws the secret heart ; 
And envy wan, and faded care, 
Grim-visaged, comfortless despair, 

And sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise, 

Then whirl the wretch from high, 
To bitter scorn a sacrifice. 

And grinning infamy ; 
The stings of falsehood those shall try, 
And hard unkindness' altered eye, 

That mocks the tears it forced to flow ; 
And keen remorse, with blood defiled, 
.\nd moody madness, laughing wild 

Amid severest woe. 

Lo ! in the vale of years beneath 

A grisly troop are seen. 
The painful family of death, 

More hideous than their queen ; 
This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 
That every laboring sinew strains. 

Those in the deeper ^dtals rage : 
Lol poverty, to fill the band, 



That numbs the soul with icy hand. 
And slow-consuming age. 

To each his sufferings : all are men. 

Condemned alike to groan ; 
The tender for another's pain, 

The unfeeling for his own. 
Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate i 
Since sorrow never comes too late, 

And happiness too swiftly flies, 

Thought would destroy their paradise. 

Fo more : — where ignorance is bhss, 

'T is folly to be wise ! 

Thomas Geay, 



THE CHILDREN" INT THE WOOD. 

Now ponder well, you parents dear, 

The words which I shall write ; 
A doleful story you shall hear. 

In time brought forth to light : 
A gentleman, of good account, 

In Norfolk lived of late, 
Whose wealth and riches did surmount 

Most men of his estate. 

Sore sick he was, and like to die. 

No help then he could have ; 
His wife by him as sick did lie. 

And both possessed one grave. 
No love between these two was lost. 

Each was to other kind ; 
In love they lived, in love they died. 

And left two babes behind : 

The one a fine and pretty boy. 

Not passing three years old ; 
The other a girl, more young than he, 

And made in beauty's mould. 
The father left his little son, 

As plainly doth appear. 
When he to perfect age should come, 

Three hundred pounds a year — 

And to his little daughter Jane 

Five hundred pounds in gold, . 
To be paid down on marringe-dny, 

Which might not bo controlled ; 
But if the children chanced to die 

Ere they to age should come. 
Their uncle should possess their wealth. 

For so the will did run. 



150 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



"]?Tow, brother," said the dying man, 

"Look to my children dear; 
Be good imto my boy and girl, 

ISTo friends else I have here ; 
To God and you I do commend 

My children, night and day ; 
But little while, be sure, we have, 

"Within this world to stay. 

'* You must be father and mother both, 

And uncle, all in one ; 
God knows what will become of them 

When I am dead and gone." 
With that bespake their mother dear, 

"0 brother kind," quoth she, 
"You are the man must bring our babes 

To wealth or misery. 

" And if you keep them carefully, 

Then God will you reward ; 
If otherwise you seem to deal, 

God will your deeds regard." 
With lips as cold as any stone. 

She kissed her children small : 
"God bless you both, my children dear," 

With that the tears did fall. 

These speeches then their brother spake 

To this sick couple there : 
" The keeping of your children dear, 

Sweet sister, do not fear ; 
God never prosper me nor mine, 

Nor aught else that I have, 
If I do wrong your children dear, 

When you are laid in grave." 

Their parents being dead and gone, 

The children home he takes. 
And brings them home unto his house. 

And much of them he makes. 
He had not kept these pretty babes 

A twelvemonth and a day. 
But, for their wealth, he did devise 

To make them both away. 

He bargained with two ruffians strong, 

Wliich were of furious mood. 
That they should take these children young. 

And slay them in a wood. 
He told his wife, and all he had. 

He did the children send 
To be brought up in fair London, 

With one that was his friend. 



Away then went these pretty babes, 

Eejoicing at that tide, 
Eejoicing with a merry mind, 

They should on cock-horse ride ; 
They prate and prattle pleasantly, 

As they rode on the way. 
To those that should then- butchers be, 

And work their lives' decay. 

So that the pretty speech they had, 

Made Murder's heart relent ; 
And they that undertook the deed 

Full sore they did repent. 
Yet one of them, more hard of heart, 

Did vow to do his charge, 
Because the wretch that hired him 

Had paid him very large. 

The other would not agree thereto. 

So here they fell at strife ; 
With one another they did fight, 

About the children's life ; 
And he that was of mildest mood, 

Did slay the other there. 
Within an unfrequented wood ; 

While babes did quake for fear. 

He took the children by the hand 

When tears stood in their eye. 
And bade them come and go with him. 

And look they did not cry ; 
And two long miles he led them on. 

While they for food complain : 
" Stay here," quoth he, "I 'U bring yoti bread, 

When I do come again." 

These pretty babes, with hand in hand, 

Went wandering up and down, 
But never more they saw the man, 

Approaching from the town. 
Their pretty lips, with black-berries, 

Were all besmeared and dyed, 
And, when they saw the darksome night. 

They sate them down and cried. 

Thus wandered these two pretty babca. 

Till death did end their grief; 
In one another's arms they died. 

As babes wanting relief. 
No burial these pretty babes 

Of any man receives. 
Till robin redbreast, painfully, 

Did cover them with leaves. 



LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 



151 



And now the heavy wrath of God 

Upon then* uncle fell ; 
Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house, 

His conscience felt an hell. 
His barns were fired, his goods consumed, 

His lands were barren made ; 
His cattle died within the field, 

And nothing with him stayed. 

And, in the voyage of Portugal, 

Two of his sons did die ; 
And, to conclude, himself was brought 

To extreme misery. 
He pawned and mortgaged all his land 

Ere seven years came about ; 
And now, at length, this wicked act 

Did by this means come out : 

The fellow that did take in hand 

These children for to kill. 
Was for a robber judged to die. 

As was God's blessed will ; 
Who did confess the very truth. 

The which is here expressed ; 
Their uncle died while he, for debt. 

In prison long did rest. 

You that executors be made. 

And overseers eke ; 
Of children that be fatherless. 

And infants mild and meek. 
Take you example by this thing, 

And yield to each his right, 

Lest God, with such hke misery. 

Your wicked minds requite. 

Anonymous. 



LADY AISTN BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 

A SCOTTISH SONG. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe ! 
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe ; 
If thou 'st be silent, I 'se be glad, 
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad. 
Balow, my boy, thy mither's joy! 
Tliy father breides me great annoy. 

Balow^ my labe^ ly stil and sleipe ! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

When he began to court my luve, 
And with his sugred words to muve, 



His faynings fals, and flattering cheire, 
To me that time did not appeire : 
Kut now I see, most cruell hee. 
Cares neither for my babe nor mee. 

Balow^ my hahe^ ly stil and sleipe ! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe, 

Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe awhile. 
And when thou wakest sweitly smile • 
But smile not, as thy father did. 
To cozen maids ; nay, God forbid ! 
But yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire. 
Thy fatheris hart and face to beire. 

Balow^ my l)abe^ ly stil and sleipe ! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

I cannae chuse, but ever will 
Be luving to thy father stil : 
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde. 
My luve with him maun stil abyde : 
In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae. 
Mine hart can neir depart him frae. 

Balow^ my Idbe^ ly stil and sleipe I 
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine. 

To faynings fals thine hart incline ; 

Be loyal to thy luver trew. 

And nevir change hir for a new ; 

If gude or faire, of hir have care, 

For women's banning 's wonderous sair. 

Balow^ my lale^ ly stil and sleipe ! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane. 

Thy winsome smiles maun else my paine ; 

My babe and I '11 together live. 

He '11 comfort me when cares doe grieve ; 

My babe and I right saft will ly. 

And quite forget man's cruelty. 

Balow, my bal^e, ly stil and sleipe/ 
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth 
That ever kist a woman's mouth ! 
I wish all maids be warned by mee, 
Nevir to trust man's curtesy ; 
For if we doe but chance to bow, 
They '11 use us than they care not how. 

BaloiCy my lale, ly stil and sleipe! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. 
AnoNYMors. 



Ib2 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



BANAB, 

Whilst, around her lone ark sweeping, 

Trailed the winds and w^aters v/ild, 
Her young cheeks all wan with w^eeping, 

Danae clasped her sleeping child ; 
And " Alas," (cried she,) " my dearest. 

What deep wrongs, what woes, are mine ! 
But nor wrongs nor w- oes thou fearest, 

In that sinless rest of thine. 
Faint the moonbeams break above thee. 

And, within here, all is gloom ; 
But fast wrapt in arms that love thee. 

Little reck'st thou of our doom. 
Not the rude spray round thee flying, 

Has e'en damped thy clustering hair, — 
On thy purple mantlet lying, 

mine Innocent, my Fair ! 
Yet, to thee were sorrow sorrow, 

Thou would'st lend thy little ear, 
And this heart of thine might borrow 

Haply yet a moment's cheer. 
But no ; slumber on. Babe, slumber ; 

Slumber, Ocean-waves ; and you. 
My dark troubles, without number, — 

Oh, that ye would slumber too ! 
Though with wrongs they've brimmed my 
chalice, 

Grant Jove, that, in future years, 
riiis boy may defeat their malice. 

And avenge his mother's tears!" 

SiMONiDES. (Greek.) 
Translation of William Peter. 



BOYHOOD. 

An, then how sweetly closed those crowded 

days ! 
riie minutes parting one by one like rays. 
That fade upon a summer's eve. 
T^ut oh ! what charm, or magic numbers 
Can give me back the gentle slumbers 
Those weary, happy days did leave ? 
When by my bed I saw my mother kneel. 
And with her blessing took her nightly kiss ; 
Whatever Time destroys, he cannot this — 
E'en now that nameless kiss I feel. 

Washington Ali^tgn. 



HEE EYES ARE WILD. 



Hee eyes are wild, her head is bare, 

The sun has burnt her coal-black hair; 

Her eyebrows have a rusty stain. 

And she came far from over the main. 

She had a baby on her arm, 

Or else she were alone ; 

And underneath the hay- stack warm. 

And on the greenwood stone. 

She talked and sung the woods among. 

And it was in the English tongue. 



" Sw^eet babe ! they say that I am mad , 

But nay, my heart is far too glad : 

And I am happy when I sing 

Full many a sad and doleful thing. 

Then, lovely baby, do not fear ! 

I pray thee have no fear of me ; 

But safe as in a cradle, here, 

My lovely baby ! thou shalt be. 

To thee I know too much I owe ; 

I cannot work thee any woe. 

III. 

" A fire was once within my brain, 
And in my head a dull, dull pain ; 
And fiendish faces, one, two, three, 
Hung at my breast, and pulled at me. 
But then there came a sight of joy ; 
It came at once to do me good : 
I waked, and saw my little boy. 
My little boy of flesh and blood ; 
Oh joy for me that sight to see ! 
For he was here, and only he. 



'' Suck, little babe, oh suck again ! 
It cools my blood ; it cools my brain ; 
Thy lips, I feel them, baby ! they 
Draw from my heart the pain away. 
Oh press me w^th thy little hand ! 
It loosens something at my chest ; 
About that tight and deadly band 
I feel thy little fingers pr'i^^st. 
The breeze I see is in the tree — 
It comes to cool my babe and me. 



I 



THE ADOPTED CHILD. 



163 



" Oh love me, love me, little boy ! 
Thou art thy mother's only joy ; 
And do not dread the waves below, 
When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go ; 
The high crag cannot work me harm, 
Nor leaping torrents when they howl ; 
The babe I carry on my arm. 
He saves for me my precious soul ; 
Then happy lie ; for blest am I ; 
Without me my sweet babe would die. 



YI. 

^*Then do not fear, my boy ! for thee 

Bold as a lion will I be ; 

And I will always be thy guide. 

Through hollow snows and rivers wide. 

I '11 build an Indian bower ; I know 

The leaves that make the softest bed ; 

And, if from me thou wilt not go, 

But still be true till I am dead, 

My pretty thing ! then thou shalt sing 

As merry as the birds in Spring. 

VII. 

" Thy father cares not for my breast, 
'T is thine, sweet baby, there to rest ; 
T is all thine own I — and if its hue 
Be changed, that was so fair to view, 
'T is fair enough for thee, my dove ! 
My beauty, little child, is flown. 
But thou wilt live with me in love ; 
And what if my poor cheek be brown ? 
'T is well for me thou canst not see 
How pale and wan it else would be. 

VIII. 

^^ Dread not their taunts, my little Life ; 
I am thy father's wedded wife ; 
And underneath the spreading tree 
We two will live in honesty. 
[f his sweet boy he could forsake. 
With me he never would have stayed. 
From him no harm my babe can take ; 
But he, poor man, is wretched made ; 
And every day we two will pray 
For him that 's gone and far away. 



IX. 

"I '11 teach my boy the sweetest things: 
I '11 teach him how the ow ot sings. 
My little babe ! thy lips are still, 
^And thou hast almost sucked thy fill. 
— Where art thou gone, my own dear child 
What wicked looks are those I see ? 
Alas ! alas ! that look so wild. 
It never, never came from me. 
If thou art mad, my pretty lad, 
Then I must be for ever sad. 

X. 

" Oh smile on me, my little lamb ! 
For I thy own dear mother am. 
My love for thee has well been tried .• 
I 've sought thy father far and wide. 
I know the poisons of the shade ; 
I know the earth-nuts fit for food. 
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid ; 
We '11 find thy father in the wood. 
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away I 
And there, my babe, we '11 live for aye." 
William Woedsv^outti. 



THE ADOPTED CHILD. 

"Why would'st thou leave me, oh gentle 

child? 
Thy home on the mountain is bleak and wild— 
A straw-roofed cabin, with lowly wall ; 
Mine is a fair and pillared hall. 
Where many an image of marble gleams, 
And the sunshine of pictures forever streams.' 

" Oh ! green is the turf where my brothers 

play, 
Through the long bright hours of the sum 

mer's day ; 
They find the red cup- moss where they climb, 
And they chase the bee o'er the scented 

thyme. 
And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms 

they know; 
Lady, kind lady! oh let me go." 

" Content thee, boy ! in my bower to dwell 
Here are sweet sounds which thou lovesl 
well: 



154 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, 
Harps which the wandering hreezes tune, 
And the silvery wood-note of many a hird 
Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountain 
heard." 

" Oh ! my mother sings at the twilight's fall, 
A. song of the hills far more sweet than all ; 
She sings it under our own green tree 
To the bahe half slumbering on her knee ; 
I dreamt last night of that music low — 
Lady, kind lady ! oh, let me go." 

" Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest ; 
She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast ; 
Thou would'st meet her footstep, my boy, no 

more, 
Kor heai her song at the cabin door. 
Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh. 
And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest 

dye." 

"Is my mother gone from her home away? — 
But I know that my brothers are there at 

play— 
I know they are gathering the fox-glove's 

bell, 
Or the long fern leaves by the sparkling well ; 
Or they launch their boats where the bright 

streams flow — 
Lady, kind lady ! oh, let me go." 

"Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now; 
They sport no more on the mountain's brow ; 
They have left the fern by the spring's green 

side, 
And the streams where the fairy barks were 

tied. 
Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot. 
For the cabin home is a lonely spot." 

Are they gone, all gone from the sunny 
hill ?— 
But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still ; 
And the red-deer bound in their gladness free. 
And the heath is bent by the singing bee. 
And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow; 
Lady, kind lady ! oh, let me go." 

Felicia. Dorothea Hemans. 



LUCY GRAY; 

OE, SOLITUDE. 

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray ; 

And, when I crossed the wild, 
I chanced to see, at break of day 

The solitary child. 

1^0 mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; 

She dwelt on a wide moor, — 
The sweetest thing that ever grew 

Beside a human door. 

You yet may spy the fawn at play, 

The hare upon the green ; 
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 

"Will never more be seen. 

"To-night will be a stormy night,— 

Y^ou to the town must go ; 
And take a lantern. Child, to light 

Your mother through the snow." 

"That, Father! wiU I gladly do ; 

'T is scarcely afternoon, — 
The minster-clock has just struck tvro^ 

And yonder is the moon. " 

At this the father raised his hook, 

And snapped a faggot-band. 
He plied his work ; — and Lucy took 

The lantern in her hand. 

iTot blither is the mountain roe— 

With many a wanton stroke 
Her feet disperse the powdery snow 

That rises up like smoke. 

The storm came on before its time ; 

She wandered up and down ; 
And many a hill did Lucy climb, 

But never reached the town. 

The wretched parents all that night 
Went shouting far and wide ; 

But there was neither sound nor sight 
To serve them for a guide. 

At daybreak on the hill they stood* 

That overlooked the moor ; 
And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 

A furlong from their door. 



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 



155 



They wept, — and, turning homeward, cried, 
" In heaven we all shall meet ; " — 

When in the snow the mother spied 
The print of Lucy's feet. 

TJien downwards from the steep hill's edge 
They tracked the footmarks small ; 

And through the hroken hawthorn-hedge, 
And by the low stone-wall ; 

And then an open field they crossed — 
The marks were still the same — 

They tracked them on, nor ever lost ; 
And to the bridge they came. 

They followed from the snowy bank 

Those footmarks, one by one, 
Into the middle of the plank ; 

And further there were none ! 

— Yet some maintain that to this day 

She is a living child ; 
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 

Upon the lonesome wild. 

O'er rough and smooth she trips along, 

And never looks behind ; 
And sings a solitary song 

That whistles in the wind. 

WiLLTAM WORDSWOKTH. 



Then fling them to the winds, and o'er the 

lawn 
Bound with so playful and so light a foot. 
That the pressed daisy scarce dechned hei 

head. 

ChABLEB IiA-Mli. 



CHILDHOOD. 

In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse 
Upon the days gone by ; to act in thought 
Past seasons o'er, and be again a child ; 
To sit in fancy on the turf-clad slope 
Down which the child would roll ; to pluck 

gay flowers, 
Make posies in the sun, which the child's 

hand 
rOliildhood ofi^endod soon, soon reconciled) 
Would throw away, and straight take up 

again, 



THE OHILDEEN'S HOUR. 

Between the dark and the daylight. 
When night is beginning to lower, 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations, 
That is known as the children's hour. 



I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet. 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 



From my study I see in the lamphght, 
Descending the broad hall stair, 

Grave Alice and laughing Allegro, 
And Edith with golden hair. 



A whisper and then a silence . 

Yet I know by their merry eyes 
They are plotting and planning together 

To take me by surprise. . 



A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden raid from the hall, 

By three doors left unguarded. 
They enter my castle wall. 



They climb up into my turret. 

O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 

If I try to escape, they surround me ; 
They seem to be everywhere. 



They almost devour me with kisses, 
Their arms about me entwine. 

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhino. 



156 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD 



Do you think, oh bhie-eyed banditti. 
Because you have scaled ^he wall, 

Such an old moustache as I am 
Is not a match for you aU ? 

I have you fast in my fortress, 

And will not let you depart, 
But put you into the dungeon 

In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
rill the walls shall crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away. 

Henry Wadswoeth Longfellow, 



UNDER MY WIKDOW. 

LivDER my window, under my window, 
All in the Midsummer weather. 

Three httle girls with fluttering curls 
Flit to and fro together : — 

There 's BeU with her bonnet of satin sheen. 

And Maud with her mantle of silver-green. 
And Kate with her scarlet feather. 



finder my window, under my window. 

Leaning stealthily over. 
Merry and clear, the voice I hear, 

Of each glad-hearted rover. 
Ah ! sly little Kate, she steals my roses ; 
And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies, 

As merry as bees in clover. 

Under my window, under my window. 
In the blue Midsummer weather, 

Stealing slow, on a hushed tip-toe, 
I catch them all together : — 

Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen, 

And Maud with her mantle of silver-green, 
And Kate with the scarlet feather. 



Under my window, under my window, 
And off through the orchard closes ; 



"While Maud she flouts, and Bell she pout8, 

They scamper and drop their posies ; 
But dear little Kate takes nought amiss, 
And leaps in my arms with a loving kisG, 
And I give her all my roses. 

T. Westwood. 



I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. 

I REME3kiBER, I remember 
The house where I was born. 
The httle window where the smi 
Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon, 
Nor brought too long a day ; 
But now, I often wished the night 
Had borne my breath away ! 

I remember, I remember 
The roses, red and white, 
The violets, and the lily-cups — 
Those flowers made of light ! 
The lilacs where the robin built, 
And where my brother set 
The laburnum on his birth-day,— 
The tree is hving yet I 

I remember, I remember 

Where I was used to swing. 

And thought the air must rush as fresh 

To swallows on the wing ; 

My spirit flew in feathers then, 

That is so heavy now, 

And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow ! 



I remember, I remember 

The fir-trees dark and high ; 

I used to think their slender to]>t3 

Were close against the sky. 

It was a childish ignorance, 

But now 't is little joy 

To know I 'm farther off from Heaven 

Than when I was a boy. 

TnoMAS HooDw 



WE ARE SEVEN. 



157 



WE ARE SEYEK 



-A SIMPLE child, 



That lightly draws its breath,' 
A iid feels its life in every limb, 
What should it know of death? 



I met a little cottage girl : 
She was eight years old, she said, 

Her hair was thick with many a curl 
That clustered round her head. 

She had a rustic, woodland air. 

And she was wildly clad ; 
Her eyes were fair, and very fair; — ■ 

Her beauty made me glad. 

" Sisters and brothers, little maid. 

How many may yoii be ? ^' 
"How many? Seven in all," she said, 

And wondering looked at me. 

" And where are they? I pray you tell." 
She answered : " Seven are we ; 

And two of us at Conway dwell. 
And two are gone to sea. 

" Two of us in the churchyard lie. 
My sister and my brother ; . 

And, in the churchyard cottage, I 
Dwell near them with my mother." 

"You say that two at Conway dwell, 

And two are gone to sea. 
Yet ye are seven ! I pray you tell. 

Sweet maid, how this may be." 

Then did the little maid reply : 
" Seven boys and girls are we ; 

Twc of us in the churchyard lie, 
"Beneath the churchyard tree." 

" You run about, my little maid ; 

Your limbs they are alive ; 
If two are in the churchyard laid, 

Then ye are only five." 



"Thek graves are green, they may be seen," 

The little maid replied : 
" Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, 

And they are side by side. 



'^My stockings there I often knit^ 
My kerchief there I hem ; 

And there upon the ground I sit, 
And sing a song to them. 



" And often after sunset, sir, 
When it is light and fair, 

I take my little porringer. 
And eat my supper there. 



" The first that died was sister Jane; 

In bed she moaning lay. 
Till God released her of her pain; 

And then she went away. 



" So in the churchyard she was laid ; 

And, when the grass was dry, 
Together round her grave we played. 

My brother John and I. 



"And when the ground was white with snow 

And I could run and slide, 
My brother John was forced to go, 

And he lies by her side." 

" How many are you, then," said I, 

" If they two are in heaven ? " 
Quick was the little maid's reply : 

" Master ! we are seven." 



"But they are dead; those two are dead! 

Their spirits are in heaven I " — 
'T was throwing words away ; for still 
The little maid would have her will, 

And said : " Nay, we are seven I " 

William Wordcwobth 



158 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



I did not chill her heart, 
^N'or turn its gush to tears ; 
I did not chill her heart, 
Oh, hitter drops will start 
Full soon in coming years. 

Caroline Oilman. 



BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST. 

We were crowded in the cabin, 
Not a soul. would dare to sleep, — 
It was midnight on the waters 
And a storm was on the deep. 

T is a fearful thing in "Winter 
To be shattered by the blast, 



ANIsTIE IN THE GRAVEYARD. 

She bounded o'er the graves. 
With a buoyant step cf mirth; 
She bounded o'er the graves, 
Where the weeping willow waves, 
Like a creature not of earth. 

Her hair was blown aside, 

And her eyes were glittering bright ; 

Her hair was blown aside. 

And her little hands spread wide, 

With an innocent delight. 

She spelt the lettered word 
That registers the dead ; 
She spelt the lettered word. 
And her busy thoughts were stirred 
With pleasure as she read. 

She stopped and culled a leaf 
Left fluttering on a rose ; 
She stopped and culled a leaf, 
Sweet monument of grief. 
That in our churchyard grows. 

She culled it with a smile — 
'T was near her sister's mound : 
She culled it with a smile, 
And played with it awhile, 
Then scattered it around. 



And to hear the rattling trumpet 
Thunder : " Cut away the mast ! " 

So we shuddered there in silence,- 
For the stoutest held his breath, 
While the hungry sea was roaring, 
And the breakers talked with Death, 

As thus we sat in darkness. 
Each one busy in his prayers, 
*• We are lost I " the captain shouted 
As he staggered down the stairs. 

But his little daughter whispered, 
As she took his icy hand : 
" Is n't God upon the ocean 
Just the 9ame as on the land ? " 

Then we kissed the little maiden, 
And we spoke in better cheer, 
And we anchored safe in harbor 
When the morn was shining clear. 

James T. FiELDe^ 



LITTLE BELL. 

He prayeth well, who loveth well 
Both man and bird and beast. 

Ancient Maeinbi:. 



Piped the blackbird on the beech wood spray ; 
"Pretty maid, slow wandering this way. 

What 's your name ? " quoth he — 
'•'What's your name? Oh stop and straight 

unfold. 
Pretty maid with showery curls of gold, "- 

"Little Bell," said she. 

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks — 
Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks — 

" Bonny bird," quoth she, 
" Sing me your best song before I go." 
"Here 's the very finest song I know. 

Little Bell," said he. 

And the blackbird piped ; you never hoard 
Half so gay a song from any bird — 

Full of quips and wiles, 
Now so round and rich, now soft and Blow, 



¥ 



THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. 



159 



Ml for love of that sweet face below, 
Dimpled o'er with smiles. 

And the while the bonuj bird did pour 
His full heart out freely o'er and o'er 

'iTeath the morning skies, 
In the little childish heart below 
AH the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, 
And shme forth in happy overflow 

From the blue, bright eyes. 

Down the dell she tripped and through the 

glade. 
Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade. 

And frotn out the tree 
Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of 

fear, — 
While bold blackbird piped that all might 
hear — 
"Little BeU," piped he. 

Little Bell sat down amid the fern — 
" Squirrel, squirrel to your task retm^n— 

Bring me nuts," quoth she. 
Up, away the frisky squirrel hies — 
Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes — 

And adown the tree, 
Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, 
In the little lap, dropped one by one — 
Hark, how blackbird pipes to see the fim ! 
"Happy Bell," pipes he. 

Little Bell looked up and down the glade — 
" Squirrel, squirrel, if you 're not afraid, 

Come and share with me ! " 
Down came squirrel eager for his fare — 
Down came bonny blackbird I declare ; 
Little Bell gave each his honest share— 

Ah the merry three ! 
And the while these frolic playmates twain 
Piped and frisked from bough to bough 
again, 

'ITeath the morning skies. 
In the little childish heart below 
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, 
And. shine out in happy overflow, 

From her blue, bright eyes. 

By her snow-white cot at close of day. 
Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray — 



Very caJm and clear 
Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, 
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene 

Paused awhile to hear — 
"What good child is this," the angel said, 
" That with happy heart, beside her bed 

Prays so lovingly ? " 
Low and soft, oh! very low and soft. 
Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, 

" Bell, dear BeU ! " crooned he. 

"Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair 
Murmured, "God doth bless with angels' 
care; 
Child, thy bed shall be 
Folded safe from harm— Love deep and kind, 
Shall watch around and leave good gifts be- 
hind. 

Little Bell, for thee!" 

T. WESTwoon. 



THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. 

My mother bore me in the southern wild. 
And I am black ; but, oh, my soul is white I 
White as an angel is the English child, 
But I am black, as if bereaved of light. 

My mother taught me underneath a tree ; 
And, sitting down before the heat of day. 
She took me on her lap, and kissed me, 
Ajid, pointing to the east, began to say : 



" Look on the rising sun ; there God does 

live. 
And gives liis light, and gives his heat away ; 
And flowers, and trees, and beasts, and men, 

receive 
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. 



" And we are put on earth a little space. 
That we may learn to 1 ear the beams of love, 
And tliese black bodies and this amburnt 

face 
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. 



160 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



" For when our souls have learned the heat 
to bear, 

The clouds will vanish; we shall hear His 
voice, 

Saying : ' Come from the grove, my love and 
care. 

And round my golden tent like lambs re- 
joice.' " 

Thus did my motlier say, and kissed me, 

And thus I say to little English boy : 

When I from black, and he from white cloud 

free, 
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, 

I '11 shade him from the heat, till he can bear 
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee ; 
And then I '11 stand and stroke his silver hair. 
And be like him, and he will then love me. 

William Blake. 



A CHILD PKAYII^a. 

Fold thy little hands in prayer. 

Bow down at thy mother's knee, 
jN"ow thy sunny face is fair. 
Shining through thine auburn hair ; 

Thine eyes are passion-free ; 
And pleasant thoughts, like garlands, bind thee 
Unto thy home, yet grief may find thee — 
Then pray, child, pray ! 

Now, thy young heart, like a bird, 

"Warbles in its summer nest ; 
No evil thought, no unkind word. 
No chilling autumn winds have stirred 

The beauty of thy rest ; 
But winter hastens, and decay 
Shall waste thy verdant home away — 
Then pray, child, pray ! 

Thy bosom is a house of glee. 

With gladness harping at the door ; 
While ever, with a joyous shout, 
Hope, the May queen, dances out. 

Her lips with music running o' er ; 
But Time those strings of joy wiU sever, 
And hope wiU not dance on for ever — 
Then pray, child, pray ! 



Now, thy mother's arm is spread 
Beneath thy pillow in the night ; 

And loving feet creep round thy bed, 

And o'er thy quiet face is shed 
The taper's darkened light ; 

Bat that fond arm will pass away. 
By thee no more those feet will stay — 
Then pray, child, pray i 

EOBEET AkI3 WitXXOTT. 



TO A CHILD. 

Thy memory, as a speU 

Of love, comes o'er my mind — 
As dew upon the purple bell — 

As perfume on the wind ; — 
As music on the sea — 

As sunshine on the river ; — 
So hath it always been to me, 

So shall it be for ever. 

1 hear thy voice in dreams 

Upon me softly call, 
Like echoes of the mountain streamn, 

In sportive waterfall. 
I see thy form as when 

Thou wert a living thing. 
And blossomed in the eyes of men, 

Like any flower of spring. 

Thy soul to heaven hath fled, 

From earthly thraldom free ; 
Yet, 't is not as the dead 

That thou appear'st to me. 
In slumber I behold ^^ 

Thy form, as when on ^.rth, 
Thy locks of waving gold. 

Thy sapphire eye of mirth. 

I hear, in solitude. 

The prattle kind and free 
Thou uttered'st in joyful mood 

While seated on my knee. 
So strong each vision seems 

My spirit that doth fill, 
I think not they are dreams, 

But that thou livest still. 

Anontmdxjs. 



LUCY. 



161 



LUCY. 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways 

Beside the springs of Dove, 
A maid whom there were none to praise, 

And very few to love : 

A violet by a mossy stone 

Half hidden from the eye ! 
Fair as a star, when only one 

Is shining in the sky. 

She lived unknown, and few could know 

When Lucy ceased to be ; 
But she is in her grave, and, oh ! 

The difference to me ! 



Theee years she grew in sun and shower ; 
Then Nature said : " A lovelier flower 
On earth was never sown ; 
This child I to myself will take ; 
She shall be mine, and I will make 
A lady of my own. 

" Myself will to my darling be 

Both law and impulse ; and with me 

The girl, in rock and plain, 

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 

Shall feel an overseeing power, 

To kindle or restrain, 

" She shall be sportive as the fawn 
That wild with glee across the lawn 
Or up the mountain springs ; 
And hers shall be the breathing balm, 
And hers the silence and the calm 
Of mute insensate things. 

" The floating clouds their state shall lend 
To her ; for her the willow bend : 
Nor shall she fail to see. 
Even in the motions of the storm, 
Grace that shall mould the maiden's form 
By silent sympathy. 

" The stars of midnight shall be dear 
To her ; and she shall lean her ear 
In many a secret place 
25 



"Where rivulets dance their wayward rouucl 
And beauty born of murmuring sound 
Shall pass into her face. 

''And vital feelings of delight 
ShaU rear her form to stately height, 
Her virgin bosom swell ; 
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
While she and I together live 
Here in this happy dell." 

Thus Nature spake. — The work was done- 
How soon my Lucy's race was run ! 
She died, and left to me 
This heath, this calm, and quiet scene ; 
The memory of what has been. 
And never more will be. 

William Woedswoetu. 



ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

A HOST of angels flying. 

Through cloudless skies impelled, 

Upon the earth beheld 
A pearl of beauty lying. 

Worthy to glitter bright 

In heaven's vast hall of light. 

They saw with glances tender, 
An infant newly born. 
O'er whom hfe's earliest morn 

Just cast its opening splendor ; 
Virtue it could not know. 
Nor vice, nor joy, nor woe. 

The blest angelic legion 
Greeted its birth above, 
And came, with looks of love, 

From heaven's enchanting region ; 
Bending their winged way 
To where the infant lay. 

They spread their pinions o'er it,— 
That little pearl which shone 
With lustre all its own, — 
And then on high they bore it. 
Where glory has its birth ; — 
But left the shell on earth. 

DiKK Smits. (Dntcli.) 
Translrttion of H. S. Van Dyk. 



162 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



MY PLAYMATES. 

I ONCE had a sister, oh fair 'mid the fair ! 
With a face that looked out from its soft 

go den liair, 
Like a lily some tall stately angel may hold, 
Half revealed, half concealed in a mist of 

pure gold. 
I once had a hrother, more dear than the 

day. 
With a temper as eweet as the blossoms in 

May; 
With dark hair like a cloud, and a face like 

a rose, 
The red child of the wild ! when the sum- 
mer-wind blows. 
We lived in a cottage that stood in a dell ; 
Were we born there or brought there I never 

could tell ; 
Were we nursed by the angels, or clothed by 

the fays. 
Or, who led when we fled down the deep 

sylvan ways, 
'Mid treasures of gold and of silver ! 

When we rose in the morning we ever said 

" Hark ! " 
We shall hear, if we list, the first word of the 

lark ; 
And we stood with our faces, calm, silent, 

and bright. 
While the breeze in the trees held his breath 

with delight. 
Oh the stream ran with music, the leaves dript 

with dew. 
And we looked up and saw the great God in 

the blue ; 
And we praised him and blessed him, but 

said not a word. 
For we soared, we adored, with that magical 

bird. 
Tlien with hand linked in hand, how we 

laughed, how we sung ! 
How we danced in a ring, when the morn- 
ing v\'as young ! 
How we wandered where kingcups were 

crusted with gold, 
Or more white than the light glittered daisies 

untold. 

Those treasures of gold and of silver 1 



Oh well I remember the flowers that we found, 
With the red and white blossoms that dam- 
asked the ground ; 
And the long lane of light, that, half yellow, 

half green. 
Seemed to fade down the glade where the 

young fairy queen 
Would sit with her fairies around her and 

sing, 
While we listened all ear, to that song of the 

Spring. 
Oh well I remember the lights in the west, 
And the spire, where the fire of the sun 

seemed to rest. 
When the earth, crimson-shadowed, laughed 

out in the air, — 
Ah ! I '11 never believe but the fairies were 

there ; 
Such a feeling of loving and longing was ours. 
And we saw, with glad awe, little hands in 

the flowers, 
Drop treasures of gold and of silver. 

Oh weep ye and wail ! for that sister, alas I 
And that fair gentle brother lie low in the 

grass ; 
Perchance the red robins may strew theui 

with leaves. 
That each morn, for white corn, would come 

down from the eaves ; 
Perchance of their dust the young violets are 

made, 
That bloom by the church that is hid in the 

glade ; 
But one day I shall learn, if I pass where 

they grow. 
Far more sweet they will greet their old play- 
mates,! know. 
Ah ! the cottage is gone, and no longer I see 
The old glade, the old paths, and no lark 

sings for me ; 
But I still must believe that the fairies are 

there. 
That the light grows more bright, touched 

by fingers so fair, 
'Mid treasures of gold and of silver ! 

Anoxtmoub. 



THE MORNING-GLORY. 



103 



THE OPEN WINDOW 

The old house by the lindens 

Stood silent in the shade, 
And on the gravelled pathway 

The light and shadow played. 

I saw the nursery windows 

Wide open to the air ; 
But the faces of the children, 

They were no longer there. 

The large Newfoundland house-dog 
Was standing by the door ; 

He looked for his little playmates, 
Who would return no more. 

They walked not under the lindens. 
They played not in the hall ; 

But shadow, and silence, and sadness 
Were hanging over all. 

The birds sang in the branches. 

With sweet familiar tone ; 
But the voices of the children 

Will be heard in dreams alone ! 

And the boy that walked beside me, 

He could not understand 
Why closer in mine, ah ! closer, 

I pressed his warm, soft hand ! 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



SHE CAME AND WENT. 

As a twig trembles, which a bird 
Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent, 

So is my memory thrilled and stirred ; — 
I only know she came and went. 

As clasps some kike, by gusts unrivcn. 
The blue dome's measureless content. 

So my soul held tbat moment's heaven ;— 
I only know she came and went. 

As, at one bound, our swift Spring heaps 
The orchards full of bloom and scent. 

So clove her May my wintry sleeps ; — 
I only know she came and went. 



An angel stood and met my gaze. 

Through the low doorway of my tent ; 

The tent is struck, the vision stays ; — 
I only know she came and went. 

Oh, when the room grows slowly dim. 
And when the oil is nearly spent, 

One gush of light these eyes will brim, 
Only to think she came and went. 

James Russell Lowell 



THE MOENING-GLORY. 

We wreathed about our darling's head 

The morning-glory bright ; 
Her little face looked out beneath. 

So full of life and light, 
So lit as with a sunrise, 

That we could only say, 
" She is the morning-glory true. 

And her poor types are they." 

So always from that happy time 

We called her by their name, 
And very fitting did it seem — 

For sure as morning came. 
Behind her cradle bars she smiled 

To catch the first faint ray. 
As from the trellis smiles the flower 

And opens to the day. 

But not so beautiful they rear 

Their airy cups of blue, 
As turned her sweet eyes to the light, 

Brimmed with sleep's tender dew ; 
And not so close their tendrils fine 

Round their supports are throAvn, 
As those dear arms whose outstretched plco 

Clasped all hearts to her own. 

We used to think how she had come. 

Even as comes tho flower. 
The last and perfect added gift 

To crown Love's morning hour ; 
And how in her was imaged fortli 

The love we could not say. 
As on the little dewdrops round 

Shines back the heart of dav. 



164 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



We never could have thouglit, O God. 

That she must wither up, 
Almost before a day was flown, 

Like the morning-glory's cup ; 
We never thought to see her droop 

Her fair and noble head, 
Till she lay stretched before our eyes, 

Wilted, and cold, and dead ! 

The morning-glory's blossoming 

Will soon be coming round — 
We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves 

Upspringing from the ground ; 
The tender things the winter killed 

Renew again their birth. 
But the glory of our morning 

Has passed away from earth. 

Jh, Earth ! in vain our aching eyes 

Stretch over thy green plain ! 
Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air, 

Her spirit to sustain ; 
But up in groves of Paradise 

Full surely we shall see 
Our morning-glory beautiful 

Twine round our dear Lord's knee. 

Maeia White Lowell. 



BABY'S SHOES. 

Oh those little, those little blue shoes ! 

Those shoes that no little feet use. 
Oh the price were high 
That those shoes would buy. 

Those little blue unused shoes ! 

For they hold the small shape of feet 
That no more their mother's eyes meet. 

That, by God's good will, 

Years since, grew still. 
And ceased from their totter so sweet. 

And oh, since that baby slept. 

So hushed, how the mother has kept^ 

With a tearful pleasure, 

That little dear treasure, 
And o'er them thought and wept ! 



For they mind her for evermore 
Of a patter along the floor ; 

And blue eyes she sees 

Look up from her knees 
With the ]ook that in life they wore. 

As they lie before her there. 
There babbles from chair to chair 
A little sweet face 
That's a gleam in the place, 
With its little gold curls of hair. 

Then oh, wonder not that her heart 
From all else would rather part 
Than those tiny blue shoes 
That no little feet use, 
And whose sight makes such fond tears stai 1 1 
William C. Bennett. 



THE THREE SOIL'S. 

I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years 

old, 
With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mbid 

of gentle mould. 
They tell me that unusual grace in ail hia 

ways appears. 
That my child is grave and wise of heart be- 
yond his childish years. 
I cannot say how this may be ; I know his 

face is fair — 
And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet 

and serious air ; 
I know his heart is kind and fond ; I know 

he loveth me ; 
Bat loveth yet his mother more with grateful 

fervency. 
But that which others most admire, is the 

thought which fills his mind. 
The food for grave inquiring speech he every 

where doth find. 
Strange questions doth he ask of me, when 

we together walk ; 
He scarcely thinks as children think, or talku 1 

as children talk. ■ 

Is'or cares ho much for childish sports, dotec 

not on bat or ball. 
But looks on manhood's ways and works, and 

aptly mimics all. 



2 



THE THREE SONS. 



166 



His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes 

perplext 
With thoughts about this world of ours, and 

thoughts about the next. 
He kneels at his dear mother's knee; she 

teacheth him to pray ; 
And strange, and sweet, and solemn then are 

the words which he will say. 
Oh, should my gentle child be spared to man- 
hood's years like me, 
A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will 

be; 
And when I look into his eyes, and stroke 

his thoughtful brow, 
I dare not think what I should feel, were I to 

lose him now. 

1 have a son, a second son, a simple child of 

three ; 
I '11 not declare how bright and fair his little 

features be, 
How silver sweet those tones of his when he 

prattles on my knee ; 
I do not think his light-blue eye is, like his 

brother's, keen, 
Nor his brow so full of childish thought as 

his hath ever been ; 
But his little heart 's a fountain pure of kind 

and tender feeling ; 
And his every look 's a gleam of light, rich 

depths of love revealing. 
When he walks with me, the country folk, 

who pass ua in the street, 
Will shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks 

so mild and sweet. 
A playfellow is he to all; and yet, with 

cheerful tone. 
Will sing his little song of love, when left to 

sport alone. 
His presence is like sunshine sent to gladden 

home and hearth. 
To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten 

all our mirth. 
Should he grow up to riper years, God grant 

his heart may prove 
As sweet a home for heavenly grace as now 

for earthly love ; 
And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching 

eyes must dim, 
God comfort us for all the love which we 

shall lose in him. 



I have a son, a third sweet son ; his age I 

cannot tell. 
For they reckon not by years and months 

where he is gone to dwell. 
To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant 

smiles were given ; 
And then he bade farewell to Earth, and went 

to live in Heaven. 
I cannot tell what form is his, what looks he 

weareth now, 
ISTor guess how bright a glory crowns his 

shining seraph brow. 
The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss 

which he doth feel. 
Are numbered with the secret things which 

God will not reveal. 
But I know (for God hath told me this) that 

he is now at rest, 
Where other blessed infants be, on their Sa- 
viour's loving breast. 
I knoAV his spirit feels no more this weary 

load of flesh, 
But his sleep is blessed with endless dreams 

of joy for ever fresh. 
I know the angels fold him close beneath 

their glittering wings, 
And soothe him with a song that breathes of 

Heaven's divinest things. 
I know that we shall meet our babe, (liis 

mother dear and I,) 
Where God for aye shall wipe away all tears 

from every eye. 
Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss 

can never cease ; 
Their lot may here be grief and fear, but his 

is certain peace. 
It may be that the tempter's wiles their souls 

from bliss may sever ; 
But, if our own poor faith fail not, he must 

be ours for ever. 
When we think of what our darling is, and 

what we still must be — 
When we muse on that world's perfect bliss, 

and this world's misery — 
When we groan beneath this load of sin, anO 

t'eel this grief and pain — 
Oh! we'd rather lose our otlicr two, tliai 

have him liere again. 

John MouLTr.iR 



16G 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



THRENODY. 

The South-wind brings 

Life, sunshine, and desire, 

And on every mount and meadow 

Breathes aromatic fire ; 

But over the dead he has no power ; 

The lost, the lost, he cannot restore ; 

And, looking over the hills, I mourn 

The darling who shall not return. 

I see my empty house ; 

I see my trees repair their houghs ; 

And he, the wondrous child, 

Whose silver warble wild 

Outvalued every pulsing sound 

Within the air's cerulean round — 

The hyacinthine boy, for whom 

Morn well might break and April bloom — 

The gracious boy, who did adorn 

The world whereinto he was born, 

And by his countenance repay 

The favor of the loving Day — 

Has disappeared from the Day's eye ; 

Far and wide she cannot find him ; 

M.y hopes pursue, they cannot bind him. 

Returned this day, the South-wind searches. 

And finds young pines and budding birches; 

But finds not the budding man ; 

Nature, who lost him, cannot remake him ; 

Fate let him fall, Fate can 't retake him ; 

Nature, Fate, Men, him seek in vain. 

And whither now, my truant wise and sweet, 

Oh, whither tend thy feet? 

I had the right, few days ago, 

Thy steps to watch, thy place to know ; 

How have I forfeited the right ? 

Hast thou forgot me in a new delight ? 

I hearken for thy household cheer, 

eloquent child! 

Whose voice, an equal messenger, 

Conveyed thy meaning mild. 

What though the pains and joys 

Whereof it spoke were toys 

Fitting his age and ken. 

Yet fairest dames and bearded men, 

Who heard the sweet request. 

So gentle, wise, and grave. 

Bonded with joy to his behest, 



And let the world's affairs go by, 
Awhile to share his cordial game. 
Or mend his wicker wagon-frame, 
Still plotting how their hungry ear 
That winsome voice again might heai 
For his lips could well pronounce 
Words that were persuasions. 

Gentlest guardians marked serene 
His early hope, his liberal mien ; 
Took counsel from his guiding eyes 
To make this wisdom earthly wise. 
Ah, vainly do these eyes recall 
The school-march, each day's festival, 
When every morn my bosom glowed 
To watch the convoy on the road ; 
The babe in willow wagon closed. 
With rolling eyes and face composed ; 
With children forward and behind. 
Like Cupids studiously inclined ; 
And he the chieftain paced beside. 
The centre of the troop allied. 
With sunny face of sweet repose. 
To guard the babe from fancied foes. 
The little captain innocent 
Took the eye with him as he went ; 
Each village senior paused to scan 
And speak the lovely caravan. 
From the window I look out 
To mark thy beautiful parade, 
Stately marching in cap and coat 
To some tune by fairies played ; 
A music, heard by thee alone. 
To works as noble led thee on. 

Now Love and Pride, alas ! in vain, 

Up and down their glances strain. 

The painted sled stands where it stood ; 

The kennel by the corded wood ; 

The gathered sticks to stanch the wall 

Of the snow-tower, when snow should fall ; 

The ominous hole he dug in the sand. 

And childhood's castles built or planned ; 

His daily haunts I well discern — 

The poultry-yard, the shed, the barn — 

And every inch of garden ground 

Paced by the blessed feet around, 

From the roadside to the brook 

Whereinto he loved to look. 

Step the meek birds where erst they ranged 

The wintry garden lies unchanged: 



THRENODY. 



ic: 



riie brook into the stream runs on ; 
But the deep-eyed boy is gone. 

On that shaded day, 

Dark with more clouds thj^n tempests are, 

When thou didst yield thy innocent breath 

In birdlike heavings unto death, 

Night came, and Nature had not thee ; 

T said: *' We are mates in misery." 

The morrow dawned with needless glow ; 

Each snowbird chirped, each fowl must crow ; 

Each tramper started ; but the feet 

Of the most beautiful and sweet 

Of human youth had left the hill 

And garden — they were bound and still. 

There 's not a sparrow or a wren. 

There's not a blade of Autumn grain, 

Which the four seasons do not tend, 

And tides of life and increase lend ; 

And every chick of every bird. 

And weed and rock-moss is preferred. 

Oh, ostrich -like forgetfulness ! 

Oh loss of larger in the less ! 

Was there no star that could be sent, 

No watcher in the firmament, 

No angel from the countless host 

That loiters round the crystal coast. 

Could stoop to heal that only child. 

Nature's sweet marvel undefiled. 

And keep the blossom of the earth. 

Which all her harvests were not worth ? 

Not mine — I never called thee mine, 

But Nature's heir — if I repine. 

And seeing rashly torn and moved 

Not what I made, but what I loved, 

Grew early old with grief that thou 

Must to the wastes of Nature go — 

'Tis because a general hope 

Was quenched, and all must doubt and grope. 

For flattering planets seemed to say 

This child should ills of ages stay. 

By wondrous tongue, and guided pen, 

Bring the flown Muses back to men. 

Perchance not he, but Nature, ailed ; 

The worid and not the infant failed. 

It was not ripe yet to sustain 

A genius of so fine a strain. 

Who gazed upon the sun and moon 

As if he came unto his own ; 

And, pregnant with his grander thought. 

Brought the old order into doubt. 



His beauty once their beauty tried ; 
They could not feed him, and he died, 
And wandered backward as in scorn, 
To wait an aeon to be born. 
Ill day which made this beauty waste, 
Plight broken, this high face defaced ! 
Some went and came about the dead ; 
And some m books of solace read ; 
Some to their friends the tidings say ; 
Some went to write, some went to pray; 
One tarried here, there hurried one ; 
But their heart abode with none. 
Covetous Death bereaved us all. 
To aggrandize one funeral. 
The eager fate which carried thee 
Took the largest part of me. 
For this losing is true dying ; 
This is lordly man's down-lying. 
This his slow but sure reclining, 
Star by star his world, resigning. 

child of Paradise, 

Boy who made dear his father's home, 

In whose deep eyes 

Men read the welfare of tke times to come, 

1 am too much bereft. 

The world dishonored thou hast left. 
Oh, trutli's and nature's costly lie ! 
01], trusted broken prophecy ! 
Oh richest fortune sourly crossed ! 
Born for the future, to the future lost ! 

The deep Heart answered: '' W^eepest thouj 

Worthier cause for passion wild 

If I had not taken the child. 

And deemest thou as those who pore, 

With aged eyes, short way before — 

Think'st Beauty vanished from the coast 

Of matter, and thy darling lost ? 

Taught he not thee — the man of eld, 

Whose eyes within his eyes beheld 

Heaven's numerous hierarchy span 

The mystic gulf from God to man? 

To be alone wilt thou begin 

When worlds of lovers hem thee in \ 

To-morrow when the masks shall fall 

That dizen Nature's carnival. 

The pure shall see by their own will. 

Which overflowing Love shall fill, 

'Tis not within the force of Fate 

The fate-conjoined to separate. 



108 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



But tlioii, my votary, weepest thou ? 

[ gave thee sight — where is it now ? 

[ taught thy heart beyond the reach 

Of ritual, bible, or of speech ; 

Wrote in thy mind's transparent table, 

As far as the incommunicable ; 

Taught thee each private sign to raise, 

Lit by the super-solar blaze. 

Past utterance, and past belief, 

And past the blasphemy of grief. 

The mysteries of Nature's heart ; 

And though no Muse can these impart, 

Throb thine with ISTature's throbbing breast, 

And all is clear from east to west. 

" I came to thee as to a friend ; 
Dearest, to thee I did not send 
Tutors, but a joyful eye, 
Innocence that matched the sky, 
Lovely locks, a form of wonder. 
Laughter rich as woodland thunder, 
That thou might'st entertain apart 
The richest flowering of all art ; 
And, as the great all-loving Day 
Through smallest chambers takes its way, 
That thou might'st break thy daily bread 
With prophet, saviour, and head ; 
That thou might'st cherish for thine own 
The riches of sweet Mary's son. 
Boy-rabbi, Israel's paragon. 
And thoughtest thou such guest 
Would in thy hall take up his rest ? 
Would rushing life forget her laws. 
Fate's glowing revolution pause ? 
High omens ask diviner guess, 
Not to be conned to tediousness. 
And know my higher gifts unbind 
The zone that girds the incarnate mind. 
When the scanty shores are full 
With Thought's perilous, whirling pool ; 
When frail Nature can no more, 
Then the Spirit strikes the hour : 
My servant Death, with solving rite, 
Pours finite into infinite. 

" Wilt thou freeze Love's tidal flow, 
Whose streams through Nature circling go ? 
Nail the wild star to its track 
On the half-climbed zodiac ? 
Light is light ^'hich radiates ; 
Blood is blood which circulates ; 



Life is life which generates ; 

And many-seeming life is one — 

Wilt thou transfix and make it none ? 

Its onward force too starkly pent 

In figure, bone, and lineament ? 

Wilt thou, uncalled, interrogate. 

Talker ! the unreplying Fate ? 

Nor see the genius of the whole 

Ascendant in the private soul, 

Beckon it when to go and come. 

Self-announced its hour of doom ? 

Fair the soul's recess and shrine, 

Magic-built to last a season; 

Masterpiece of love benign ; 

Fairer than expansive reason, 

Whose omen 'tis, and sign. 

Wilt thou not ope thy heart to know 

What rainbows teach, and sunsets show ? 

Verdict which accumulates 

From lengthening scroll of human fates, 

Voice of earth to earth returned. 

Prayers of saints that inly burned — 

Saying : What is excellent^ 

As God lives^ is permanent ; 

Hearts are dust^ hearts^ loves remmn ; 

Hearts'' love will meet thee again, 

Eevere the Maker ; fetch thine eye 

Up to his style, and manners of the sky. 

Not of adamant and gold 

Built he heaven stark and cold ; 

No, but a nest of bending reeds. 

Flowering grass, and scented weeds : 

Or like a traveller's fleeing tent. 

Or bow above the tempest bent ; 

Built of tears and sacred flames, 

And virtue reaching to its aims ; 

Built of furtherance and pursuing, 

Not of spent deeds, but of doing. 

Silent rushes the swift Lord 

Through ruined systems still restored, 

Broadsowing, bleak and void to bless, 

Plants with worlds the wilderness ; 

Waters with tears of ancient sorrow 

Apples of Eden ripe to-morrow. 

House and tenant go to ground. 

Lost in God, in Godhead found." 

Ralph "Waldo Emeksox 



OASA WAPPY. 



169 



CASA WAPPY.* 

And hast thou sought thy heavenly home, 

Our fond, dear boy — 
The realms where sorrow dare not come, 

Where life is joy ? 
Pure at thy death, as at thy birth, 
Thy spirit caught no taint from earth ; 
Even by its bliss we mete our dearth, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Despair was in our last farewell. 

As closed thine eye ; 
Tears of our anguish may not tell 

When thou didst die ; 
Words may not paint our grief for thee ; 
Sighs are but bubbles on the sea 
Of our unfathomed agony ; 
Casa Wappy ! 

Thou wert a vision of delight, 

To bless us given ; 
Beauty embodied to our sight — 

A type of heaven ! 
So dear to us thou wert, thou art 
Even less thine own self, than a part 
Of mine, and of thy mother's heart, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Thy bright, brief day knew no decline — 

'T was cloudless joy ; 
Sunrise and night alone were thine, 

Beloved boy ! 
This moon beheld thee blythe and gay ; 
That found thee prostrate in decay ; 
And ere a third shone, clay was clay, 
Casa Wappy I 

Gem of our hearth, our household pride. 

Earth's undefiled. 
Could love have saved, thou hadst not died. 

Our dear, sweet child ! 
Humbly we bow to Fate's decree ; 
Yet had we hoped that Time should see 
Ihee mourn for us, not us for thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

• The self-appellative of a beloved child. 



Do what I may, go where I will, 

Thou meet'st my sight ; 
There dost thou glide before me still — 

A form of light ! 
I feel thy breath upon my cheek — 
I see thee smile, I hear thee speak — 
Till oh ! my heart is like to break, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Methinks thou smil'st before me now, 

With glance of stealth ; 
The hair thrown back from thy full brow 

In buoyant health ; 
I see thine eyes' deep violet light — 
Thy dimpled cheek carnationed bright — 
Thy clasping arms so round and white — 
Casa Wappy ! 

The nursery shows thy pictured wall, 

Thy bat — thy bow — 
Thy cloak and bonnet — club and ball ; 

But where art thou ? 
A corner holds thine empty chair ; 
Thy playthings, idly scattered there, 
But speak to us of our despair, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Even to the last, thy every word — 

To glad — to grieve — 
Was sweet, as sweetest song of bird 

On Summer's eve ; 
In outward beauty undecayed. 
Death o'er thy spirit cast no shade, 
And, like the rainbow, thou didst fade, 
Casa Wappy ! 

We mourn for thee, when blind, blank night 

The chamber fills ; 
We pine for thee, when morn's first light. 

Reddens the hills ; 
The sun, the moon, the stars, the sea. 
All — to the wall-flower and Avild-pea — 
Are changed ; we saw the world thro' thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

And though, perchance, a smile fuay gleam 

Of casual mirth. 
It doth not own, whatever may seem, 

An inward birth ; 



170 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



We miss thy small step on the stair ; — 
We miss thee at thine evening prayer ; 
All day we miss thee — every where — 
Casa Wappy ! 

Snows muffled earth when thou didst go, 

In life's spring-bloom, 
Down to the appointed house below — 

The silent tomb. 
But now the green leaves of the tree, 
The cuckoo, and " the busy bee," 
Return — but with them bring not thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

'T is so ; but can it be — while flowers 

Revive again — 
Man's doom, in death that we and ours 

For aye remain ? 
Oh ! can it be, that, o'er the grave, 
The grass renewed should yearly wave, 
Yet God forget our child to save ? — 
Casa Wappy ! 

It cannot be ; for were it so 

Thus man could die. 
Life were a mockery — thought were woe — 

And truth a lie ; — 
Heaven were a coinage of the brain — 
Religion frenzy — virtue vain — 
And all our hopes to meet again, 
Casa "Wappy ! 

Then be to us, dear, lost child ! 

With beam of love, 
A star, death's uncongenial wild 

Smiling above ! 
Soon, soon, thy little feet have trod 
The skyward path, the seraph's road. 
That led thee back from man to God, 
Casa Wappy I 

Yet, 't is sweet balm to our despair, 

Fond, fairest boy, 
That Heaven is God's, and thou art there. 

With him in joy ; 
There past are death and all its woes ; 
There beauty's stream for ever flows ; 
And pleasure's day no sunset knows, 
Oasa Wappy I 



Farewell then — for a while, farewell — 

Pride of my heart ! 
It cannot be that long we dwell, 

Thus torn apart. 
Time's shadows like the shuttle flee ; 
And, dark howe'er life's night may be, 
Beyond the grave, I '11 meet with thee, 
Casa Wappy ! 

Datip Macbeth Moik. 



MY CHILD. 

I CANXOT make him dead ! 

His fair sunshiny head 
Is ever bounding round my study chair ; 

Yet, when my eyes, now dim 

With tears, I turn to him, 
The vision vanishes — ^he is not there I 



d 



I walk my parlour floor, 

And, through the open door, 
I hear a footfall on the chamber stair ; 

I 'm stepping toward the hall 

To give the boy a caU ; 
And then bethink me that — ^he is not there ? 

I thread the crowded street ; 

A satchelled lad I meet. 
With the same beaming eyes and cohu ed hdv 

And, as he 's running by, 

Follow him with my eye, 
Scarcely believing that — ^he is not tnere ! 

I know his face is hid 

Under the coflin lid ; 
Closed are his eyes ; cold is his forehead lair ; 

My hand that marble felt ; 

O'er it in prayer I knelt ; 
Yet my heart whispers that — h^ is not thoTo! 



I cannot make him dead ! 

When passing by the bed, 
So long watched over with parentfJ care, 

My spirit and my 0ye 

Seek him inquiringly. 
Before the thought comes that — ho Ib not 
there I 



3 



FOR CHARLIE'S SAKE. 



ITJ 



When, at tlie cool, graj break 

Of day, from sleep I wake. 
With my first breathing of the morning air 

My soul goes up, with joy, 

To Him who gave my boy; 
Then comes the sad thought that — he is not 
there ! 

When at the day's calm close. 

Before we seek repose, 
Fm with his mother, ofiering up oui prayer ; 

Whate'er I may be saying, 

I am in spu'it praying 
For our boy's spirit, though — he is not there ! 

N"ot there! — Where, then, is he? 

The form I used to see 
Was but the raiment that he used to wear. 

The grave, that now doth press 

Upon that cast-oii dress. 
Is but his wardrobe locked ; — ^he is not there ! 

He lives ! — In all the past 

He lives ; nor, to the last. 
Of seeing him again will I despair ; 

In dreams I see him now ; 

And, on his angel brow, 
I see it written, *' Thou shalt see me there ! 

Yes, we all live to God ! 

Father, thy chastening rod 
So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, 

That, in the spirit land, 

Meeting at thy right hand, 

'1 wDl be our heaven to find that — he is 

there ! 

John Pierpont. 



LOSS AOT) GAIK 

When the baby died, we said, 
With a sudden, secret dread : 
" Death, be merciful, and pass ; — 
Leave the other! " — but alas! 

While we watched he waited there, 
One foot on the golden stair, 
One hand beckoning at the gate, 
Till the home was desolate. 



Friends say, " It is better so, 
Clothed in innocence to go ;" 
Say, to ease the parting pain. 
That " your loss is but their gain." 

Ah I the parents think of this I 
But remember more the kiss 
From the little rose-red lips ; 
And the print of finger-tips. 

Left upon the broken toy. 
Will remind them how the boy 
And his sister charmed the days 
With their pretty, winsome ways. 

Only time can give relief 
To the weary, lonesome grief : 
God's sweet minister of pain 
Then shall sing of loss and gain. 

NoBA Peeby 



FOE CHAELIE'S SAKE. 

The night is late, the house is still ; 

The angels of the hour fulfil 

Their tender ministries, and move 

From couch to couch, in cares of love. 

They drop into thy dreams, sweet wife, 

The happiest smile of Charlie's life, 

And lay on baby's lips a kiss, 

Fresh from his angel-brother's bliss ; 

And, as they pass, they seem to make 

A strange, dim hymn, " For Charlie's sake.'' 

My listening heart takes up the strain, 
And gives it to the night again, 
Fitted with words of lowly praise. 
And patience -earned of mournful days. 
And memories of the dead child's ways. 

His will be done. His will be done I 
Who gave and took away my son. 
In " the far land " to shine and sing 
Before the Beautiful, the King, 
Who every day doth Christmas make, 
All starred and belled for Charlie's sake. 

For Charlie's sake I will arise ; 
I will anoint me where he lies. 



172 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 



And change my raiment, and go in 

To the Lord's house, and leave my sin 

Without, and seat me at his hoard, 

Eat, and he glad, and praise the Lord. 

For wherefore should I fast and weep, 

And sullen moods of mourning keep ? 

I cannot hring him hack, nor he, 

For any calling come to me. 

The hond the angel Death did sign, 

God sealed — for Charhe's sake, and mine. 

\ 'm very poor — this slender stone 

Marks all the narrow field I own ; 

Yet, patient hushandman, I till 

With faith and prayers, that precious hill, 

Sow it with penitential pains. 

And, hopeful, wait the latter rains ; 

Content if, after all, the spot 

Yield harely one forget-me-not— 

Whether or figs or thistles make 

My crop, content for Charlie's sake. 

I have no houses, huilded well — 

Only that little lonesome cell. 

Where never romping playmates come, 

ITor hashful sweethearts, cunning-dumb — 

An April hurst of girls and hoys, 

ITieir rainhowed cloud of glooms and joys 

Born with their songs, gone with their toys ; 

Nor ever is its stillness stirred 

By purr of cat, or chirp of bird, 

Or mother's twilight legend, told 

Of Horner's pie, or Tiddler's gold, 

Or fairy hobbling to the door. 

Red-cloaked and weird, banned and poor, 

To bless the good child's gracious eyes, 

The good child's wistful charities. 

And crippled changeling's hunch to make 

Dance on his crutch, for good child's sake. 

How is it with the child? 'Tis well ; 

Nor would I any miracle 

Might stir my sleeper's tranquil trance, 

Or plague his painless countenance : 

I would not any seer might place 

His staff on my immortal's face. 

Or lip to lip, and eye to eye. 

Charm back his pale mortality. 

No, Shunammite! I would not break" 

God's stillness. Let them weep who wake. 



For Charlie's sake my lot is blest : 
No comfort like his mother's breast. 
No praise like her's ; no charm expressed 
In fairest forms hath half her zest. 
For Charhe's sake this bird 's caressed 
That death left lonely in the nest ; 
For Charlie's sake my heart is dressed. 
As for its birthday, in its best ; 
For Charlie's sake we leave the rest 
To Him who gave, and who did take, 
And saved us twice, for Charlie's sake. 

John Williamson Palmek, 



THE WroOW AND CHILD. 

Home they brought her warrior dead ; 

She nor swooned, nor uttered cry • 
All her maidens, watching, said, 

" She must weep or she will die." 

Then they praised him, soft and low, 
Called him worthy to be loved, 

Truest friend and noblest foe ; 
Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 

Stole a maiden from her place, 
Lightly to the warrior stept, 

look a face- cloth from the face. 
Yet she neither moved nor wept. 

Rose a nurse of ninety years, 
Set his child upon her knee — 

Like summer tempest came her tears—' 
" Sweet my child, I live for thee." 

Alfred Tennyson. 



THE RECONCIXIATION. 

As through the land at eve we went, 

And plucked the ripened ears, 
We fell out, my wife and I, — 
Oh, we fell out, I know not why, 
And kissed again with tears. 

For when we came where lies the child 

We lost in other years. 
There above the little grave. 
Oh, there above the little grave, 

We kissed again with tears, 

Alfsbd Tenntson 



PART III. 



POEMS OP FRIENDSHIP 



GiEB treufich mir die Hiinde, 
Sei Bruder mir, und wende 
Den Blick, vor deiuem Ende, 
Nicht wieder weg von mir. 
Ein Tempel wo wir knien, 
Ein Ort wohin wir zieben, 
Ein Gliick fur das wir gliihen, 
Ein Himmel mir und dir ! 

NoVALIfl. 



Then let the chill sirocco blow 

And gird us round with hills of snow ; 

Or else go whistle to the shore, 

And make the hollow mountains roar; 

Whilst we together jovial sit 
Careless, and crowned with mirth and wit ; 
Where, though bleak winds confine us home. 
Our fancies round the world shall roam. 

We '11 think of all the friends we know, 
And drink to all worth drinking to ; 
When, having drank all thine and mine. 
We rather shall want health than wine. 

But where friends fail us, we '11 supply 
Our friendships with our charity ; 
Men that remote in sorrows live, 
Shall by our lusty brimmers thrive. 

We '11 drink the wanting into weaith, 
Aud those that languish into health, 



The afflicted into joy, th' opprest 
Into security and rest. 

The worthy in disgrace shall find 
Favor return again more kind ; 
And in restraint who stifled lie. 
Shall taste the air of liberty. 

The brave shall triumph in success : 
The lovers shall have mistresses ; 
Poor unregarded virtue, praise ; 
And the neglected poet, bays. 

Thus shall our healths do others gooU; 
Whilst we ourselves do all we would ; 
For, freed from envy and from care. 
What would we be, but what we are : 

'T is the plump grape's immortal juice 
That does this happiness produce. 
And will preserve us free together, 
Maugre mischance, or wind and weather. 

CnAKLES COTTOW, 



POEMS OF FPtlENDSHIP. 



EAELY FRIENDSHIP. 

The half-seen memories of childisli days, 
When pains and pleasures lightlj came and 

went; 
The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent 
In fearful wanderings through forbidden 

ways; 
Tlie vague, but manly wish to tread the maze 
Of life to noble ends ; whereon intent, 
Asking to know for what man here is sent, 
The bravest heart must often pause, and 

gaze — 
The firm resolve to seek the chosen end 
Of manhood's judgment, cautious and mature: 
Each of these viewless bonds binds friend to 

friend 
With strength no selfish purpose can secure ; — 
My happy lot is this, that all attend 
That friendship which first came, and which 

shall last endure. 

AUBEEY De VeEE. 



WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET 
AGAIN. 

When shall we three meet again ? 
When shall we three meet again ? 
Oft shall glowing hope expire, 
Oft shall wearied love retire 
Oft shall death and sorrow reign. 
Ere we three shall meet again. 

Though in distant lands we sigh, 
Parched beneath a hostile sky; 



Though the deep between us rolls, 
Friendship shall unite our souls. 
Still in Fancy's rich domain 
Oft shall we three meet again. 

When the dreams of life are fled, 
When its wasted lamps are dead ; 
When in cold oblivion's shade, 
Beauty, power, and fame are laid ; 
Where immortal spirits reign. 
There shall we three meet again. 

Anonymous. 



SONNETS. 

WnEiT I do count the clock that tells the 

time, 
And see the brave day sunk in hideous 

night; 
When I behold the violet past prime, 
And sable curls all silvered o'er with white ; 
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, 
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, 
And Summer's green all girded up in sheaves, 
Borne on the bier with white and bristly 

beard ; 
Then, of thy beauty do I question make, 
That thou among the wastes of time must go, 
Since sweets and beauties do themselves for- 
sake. 
And die as fast as they see others grow ; 
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe cm) 

make defence, 
Save breed, to brave him, when ho tokcs) 
thee hence. 



176 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



SnALL I compare thee to a sammer's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate ; 
Rough winds do shake the darling huds of 

May, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a date. 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
And often is his gold complexion dimmed, 
And every fair from fair sometime declines. 
By chance, or nature's changing course, un- 

trimmed ; 
But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
Kor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
Nor shall death hrag thou wander'st in his 

shade, 
When in eternal lines to time thou growest. 
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can 

see, 
So long Hves this, and this gives life to 

thee. ' 



So is it not with me as with that Muse, 
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse ; 
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use, 
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ; 
Making a compliment of proud compare, 
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's 

rich gems, 
With April's first-born flowers, and all things 

rare 
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. 
Oh let me, true in love, but truly write. 
And then believe me, my love is as fair 
As any mother's child, though not so bright 
As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air : 

Let them say no more that like of hearsay 
well; 

I will not praise, that purpose not to sell. 



Let those who are in favor with their stars, 
Of public honor and proud titles boast ; 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumphs 

bars. 
Unlooked-for joy in that I honor most. 
Great princes' favorites their fair leaves 

spread. 
But as the marigold, at the sun's eye ; 



And in themselves their pride lies buried, 
For at a frown they in their glory die. 
The painful warrior famoused for fight, 
After a thousand victories once foiled. 
Is from the book of honor rased quite, 
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled. 
Then happy I, that love and am beloved. 
Where I may not remove nor be removed. 



When in disgrace with fortune and men's 

eyes, 
I all alone be weep my outcast state, 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootlese 

cries. 
And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
Wishing me hke to one more rich in hope, 
Featured like him, like him with friends pos- 
sessed. 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
With what I most enjoy contented least ; 
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despis- 
ing, 
Haply I think on thee, and then my state 
(Like to the lark at break of day arismg 
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's 
gate. 
For thy sweet love remembered such wealtJi 

brings, 
That then I scorn to change my state with 



kings. 



Whex to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
I summon up remembrance of things past, 
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. 
And with old woes new wail my dear time's 

waste. 
Then, can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 
For precious friends hid in death's dateless 

night. 
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled 

woe. 
And moan th' expense of many a vanished 

sight. 
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone. 
And heavily from woe to woe teU o'er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
Which I new pay, as if not paid before ; 



i 



SONNETS 



177 



But if the while I think on thee, dear 

friend, 
All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 



Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, 
Which I by lacking have supposed dead ; 
And there reigns love, and all love's loving 

parts, 
And all those friends which I thought buried. 
How many a holy and obsequious tear 
Hath dear rehgious love stol'n from mine eye. 
As interest of the dead, which now appear 
But things removed, that hidden in thee lie ! 
Thou art the grave where buried love doth 

live, 
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, 
Who aU their parts of me to thee did give; 
That due of many now is thine alone: 
Their images I loved I view in thee, 
And thou (all they) hast aU the all of me. 



Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye. 
Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy ; 
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
And from the forlorn world his visage hide. 
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace. 
Even so my sun one early morn did shine, 
With all triumphant splendor on my brow ; 
but out, alack ! he was but one hour mine. 
The region cloud hath masked him from me 

now. 
Yet him for this my love no whit disdain- 

eth; 
'^nns of the world may stain, when heaven's 

sun staineth. 



Why didst thou promise such a beauteous 

<iay, 
And make me travel forth without my cloak, 
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, 
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke ? 
'T is not enough that through the cloud thou 

break. 
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face. 
For no man well of such a salve can speak, 
27 



That heals the wound, and cures not the dis- 
grace : 
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief— 
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss : 
Tl^' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief 
To him that bears the strong offence's cross. 
Ah, but those tears are pearl, which t]\y 

love sheds. 
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 



What is your substance, whereof are you 

made, 
That millions of strange shadows on you 

tend? 
Since every one hath, every one, one shade, 
And you, but one, can every shadow lend. 
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
Is poorly imitated after you ; 
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, 
And you in Grecian tires are painted new : 
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year — 
The one doth shadow of your beauty show, 
The other as your bounty doth appear ; 
And you in every blessed shape we know. 
In all external grace you have some part ; 
But you like none, none you, for constant 

heart. 

Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous 

seem, 
By that sweet ornament which truth doth 

give! 
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
For that sweet odor which doth in it live. 
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 
As the perfumed tincture of the roses — 
Hang on such thorns, and play us wantonly 
When summer's breath their masked budg 

discloses ; 
But, for their virtue only is their show ; 
They live un wooed, and unrespected fade - 
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors 

made : 
And so of you beauteous and lovely youth, 
Wlien that shall fade, my verso distils your 

truth. 

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme 



178 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



But you shall shine more bright in these con- 
tents 

Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish 
time. 

When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 

And broils root out the works of masonry, 

Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire 
shall burn 

The hving record of your memory. 

'Gainst death and all oblivious enmity 

Shall you pace forth : your praise shall still 
find room 

Even in the eyes of all posterity. 

That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
So, till the judgment that yourself arise, 
You hve in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 
William Shakespeaee. 



FEOM "IN" MEMORIAM." 

I ENVY not, in any moods, 

The captive void of noble rage, 
The linnet born within the cage. 

That never knew the summer woods. 

I envy not the beast that takes 
His hcense in the field of time, 
Unfettered by the sense of crime, 

To whom a conscience never wakes : 

Nor, what may count itself as blest, 
The heart that never plighted troth. 
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth — 

Nor any want-begotten rest. 

I hold it true, whate'er befall — 
I feel it, when I sorrow most — 
'T is better to have loved and lost 

Than never to have loved at all. 



With trembling fingers did we weave 
The holly round the Christmas hearth ; 
A rainy cloud possessed the earth 

And sadly fell our Christmas eve. 

At our old pastimes in the hall 
We gambolled, making vain pretence 
Of gladness, with an awful sense 

Of one mute Shadow watching all. 



AYe paused; the winds were in the beecli— 
We heard them sweep the winter land ; 
And in a circle hand in hand 

Sat silent, looking each at each. 

Then echo-fike our voices rang ; 

We sang, though every eye was dim — 

A merry song we sang with him 
Last year — ^impetuously we sang ; 

We ceased. A gentler feeling crept 

Upon us ; surely rest is meet : 

" They rest," we said, " their sleep is sweet. 
And silence followed, and we wept. 

Our voices took a higher range ; ^ 

Once more we sang : " They do not die, 
NTor lose their mortal sympathy, 

Nor change to us, although they change • 

" Rapt fi^om the fickle and the frail. 
With gathered power, yet the same, 
Pierces the keen seraphic flame 

From orb to orb, from veil to veil. 

"Rise, happy mom! rise, holy mom ! 

Draw forth the cheerful day from niglit! 

O Father ! touch the east, and light 
The fight that shone when Hope was bom.'* 



Dost thou look back on what hath been, 
As some divinely gifted man. 
Whose life in low estate began, 

And on a simple village green ? 

Who breaks his birth's invidious bar. 
And grasps the skirts of happy chance, 
And breasts the blows of circumstance, 

And grapples with his evil star ; 

Who makes by force his merit known. 
And lives to clutch the golden keys- 
To mould a mighty state's decreee, 

And shape the whisper of the throne ; 

And moving up from high to higher, 
Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope 
The pillar of a people's hope. 

The centre of a world's desire ; 

Yet feels, as in a pensive dream, 
When aU his active powers are still, 



FROM **IN MEMORIAM.'^ 



179 



A distant drearness in the hill, 
A. secret sweetness in the stream, 

The limit of his narrower fate, 
While yet beside its vocal springs 
He played at counsellors and kings, 

With one that was his earliest mate ; 

Who ploughs with pain his native lea, 
And reaps the labor of his hands, 
Or in the furrow musing stands: 
Does my old friend remember me ? " 



WiTCH-ELMS, that counter change the floor 
Of this flat lawn with dusk and bright ; 
And thou, with all thy breadth and height 

Of foliage, towering sycamore ; 

How often, hither wandering down, 
My Arthur found your shadows fair, 
And shook to all the liberal air 

The dust and din and steam of town ! 

He brought an eye for all he saw, 
He mixed in all our simple sports ; 
They pleased him, fresh from brawling 
courts 

And dusky purlieus of the law. 

Oh joy to him, in this retreat, 
Immantled in ambrosial dark, 
To drink the cooler air, and mark 

The landscape winking through the heat. 

Oh sound to rout the brood of cares, 
The sweep of scythe in morning dew, 
The gust that round the garden flew, 

And tumbling half the mellowing pears ! 

Oh bliss, when all in circle drawn 
About him, heart and ear Avere fed. 
To hear him, as he lay and read 

The Tuscan poet8 on the lawn ; 

>■ Or in the all-golden afternoon 
A guest, or happy sister, sung, 
Or here she brought the harp, and flung 
A. ballad to the brightening moon ! 

' Kor less it pleased, in livelier moods. 
Beyond the bounding hill to stray. 
And break the livelong summer day 
With banquet in the distant woods ; 



Whereat we glanced from theme to <heme, 
Discussed the books to love or hate. 
Or touched the changes of the state, 

Or threaded some Socratic dream. 

But if I praised the busy town. 
He loved to rail against it still. 
For " ground in yonder social mill, 

We rub each other's angles down, 

"And merge," he paid, "in form and gloss 
The picturesque of man and man." 
We talked ; the stream beneath us ran, 

The wine-flask lying couched in moss. 

Or cooled within the glooming wave ; 
And last, returning from afar. 
Before the crimson-circled star 

Had fallen into her father's grave. 

And brushing ankle deep in flowers, 
We heard behind the woodbine veil 
The milk that bubbled in the pail, 

And buzzings of the honeyed hours. 



Thy converse drew us with delight, 
The men of rathe and riper years ; 
The feeble soul, a haunt of fears. 

Forgot his weakness in thy sight. 

On thee the loyal-hearted hung. 
The proud was half disarmed of prido ; 
l^ov cared the serpent at thy side 

To flicker with his treble tongue. 

The stern were mild when thou wert by ; 
The flippant put himself to school 
And heard thee ; and the brazen fool 

Was softened, and he knew not why ; 

While I, thy dearest sat apart, 

And felt thy triumph was as mine; 

And loved them more, that they were thine 

The graceful tact, the Christian art ; 

Not mine the sweetness or the skill, 
But mine the love that will not tire, 
And, born of love, the vague desire 

That spurs an imitative will. 



180 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 






Deae friend, far off, my lost desire, 
So far, so near, in woe and weal ; 
Oh, loved the most when most I feel 

There is a lower and a higher ; 

Known and unknown, human, divine ! 
Sweet human hand and lips and eye. 
Dear heavenly friend that canst not die, 

Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine ! 

Strange friend, past, present, and to be. 
Loved deeplier, darklier understood ; 
Behold I dream a dream of good. 

And mingle all the world with thee. 



Thy voice is on the rolhng air ; 

I hear thee where the waters run ; 

Thou standest in the rising sun. 
And in the setting thou ai't fair. 

What art tliou, then? I cannot guess; 
But though I seem in star and flower 
To feel thee, some diffusive power, 

I do not therefore love thee less : 

My love involves the love before ; 

My love is vaster passion now ; 

Though mixed with God and nature thou, 
I seem to love thee more and more. 

Far off thou art, but ever nigh ; 
I have thee still, and I rejoice, 
I prosper, circled with thy voice ; 

I shall not lose thee, though I die. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



THE PASSAGE. 

Mant a year is in its grave, 
Since I crossed this restless wave ; 
And the evening, fair as ever, 
Shines on ruin, rock, and river. 

Then in this same boat beside 
Sat two comrades old and tried — 
One with all a father's truth. 
One with all the fire of youth. 

One on earth in silence wrought, 
zVnd his grave in silence sought ; 
But the younger, brighter form 
Passed in battle and in storm. 



So, whene'er I turn my eye 

Back upon the days gone by, 

Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er me 

Friends that closed their course before me. 

But what binds us, friend to friend. 
But that soul with soul can blend? 
Soul-like were those hours of yore ; 
Let us walk in soul once more. 

Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee, — 

Take, I give it willingly ; 

For, invisible to thee. 

Spirits twain have crossed with me. 

LiTDwiG Uhland. (German.) 
Anonymous TranslatioD. 



JAFFAE. 

jAFFkij, the Barmecide, the good vizier, 
The poor man's hope, the friend without o 

peer, . 

Jaffer was dead, slain by a doom unjust ; \ 
And guilty Hai'oun, sullen with mistrust 
Of what the good, and e'en the bad migh^ 

say, 
Ordained that no man living from that day 
Should dare to speak his name on pain o| 

death. 
AU Araby and Persia held their breath ; 



All but the brave Mondeer: he, proud to 

show 
How far for love a grateful soul could go, 1 
And facing death for very scorn and grief ■ 
(For his great heart wanted a great relief). 
Stood forth in Bagdad daily, in the square 
Where once had stood a happy house, an( 

there 
Harangued the tremblers at the scymitar 
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar. 

"Bring me this man," the cahph cried; tlii 

man 
Was brought, was gazed upon. The mute 

began 
To bind his arms. " Welcome, brave cords,** 

cried he ; 
" From bonds far worse Jaffar delivered me ; 
From wantS; from shames, from loveless 

household fears ; % 



THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 



181 



Made a man's eyes friends with delicious 

tears ; 
Restored me, loved me, pnt me on a par 
With his great self. How can I pay Jaffar? " 

Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this 
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss, 
N'ow deigned to smile, as one great lord of 

fate 
Might smile upon another half as great, 
He said, " Let worth grow frenzied if it will ; 
The caliph's judgment shall be master still. 
Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem. 
The richest in the Tartar's diadem. 
And hold the giver as thou deemest fit! " 
" Gifts ! " cried the friend ; he took, and 

holding it 
Higli toward the heavens, as though to meet 

his star, 
Exclaimed, " This, too, I owe to thee, Jaffai- ! " 

Leigh Hunt. 



THE FIKE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 

We sat within the farm-house old. 
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, 

Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold, 
An easy entrance, night and day. 

N"ot far away we saw the port, — 
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, — 

The light-house, — the dismantled fort, — 
The wooden houses, quaint and brown. 

We sat and talked until the night, 
Descending, filled the little room ; 

Our faces faded from the sight — 
Our voices only broke the gloom. 

We spake of many a vanished scene. 
Of what we once had thought and said, 

Of what had been, and might have been, 
And who was changed, and who was dead ; 

And aU that fills the hearts of friends, 
When first they feel, with secret pain. 

Their lives thenceforth have separate ends. 
And never can be one again ; 



The first slight swerving of the heart, 
That words are powerless to express, 

And leave it still unsaid in part. 
Or say it in too great excess. 

The very tones in which we spake 

Had something strange, I could but mark ; 

The leaves of memory seemed to make 
A mournful rusthng in the dark. 

Oft died the words upon our lips, 

As suddenly, from out the fire 
Built of the wreck of stranded ships. 

The flames would leap and then expire. 

And, as their splendor flashed and failed, 
We thought of wrecks upon the main, — 

Of ships dismasted, that were hailed 
And sent no answer back again. 

The windows, rattling in their frames, — 
The ocean, roaring up the beach, — 

The gusty blast, — the bickering flames, — 
All mingled vaguely in our speech ; 

Until they made themselves a part 

Of fancies floating through the brain, — 

The long-lost ventures of the heart. 
That sends no answers back again. 

Oh flames that glowed ! Oh hearts that 
yearned ! 

They were indeed too much akin — 
The di'ift-wood fire without that burned. 

The thoughts that burned and glowed 

within. 

Henry Wadsworth Lonqpellow. 



QUA OURSUM VENTUS. 

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay 
With canvas drooping, side by side, 

Two towers of sail, at dawn of day 

Are scarce, long leagues apart, descried ; 

When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, 
And all the darkling hours they plied ; 

Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas 
By each was cleaving, side by side; 



182 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



E'en so — ^but why the tale reveal 
Of those whom, year by year unchanged, 

Brief absence joined anew, to feel, 
Astounded, soul from soul estranged. 

At dead of night their sails were filled, 
And onward each rejoicing steered ; 

Ah, neither blame, for neither willed 
Or wist what first with dawn appeared. 

To veer, how vain ! On, onward strain. 
Brave barks ! In light, in darkness too ! 

Through winds and tides one compass guides- 
To that and your own selves be true. 

But O blithe breeze ! and gi*eat seas, 
Though ne'er, that earliest parting past. 

On your wide plain they join again. 
Together lead them home at last. 

One port, methought, alike they sought — 
One purpose hold where'er they fare ; 

bounding breeze, O rushing seas, 
At last, at last, unite them there ! 

Arthur Hd-gh Clough. 



OAPE-OOTTAGE AT SUI^rSET. 

We stood upon the ragged rocks. 
When the long day was nearly done ; 

The waves had ceased their sullen shocks. 
And lapped our feet with murmuring tone, 

And o'er the bay in streaming locks 
Blew the red tresses of the sun. 

Along the "West the golden bars 

Still to a deeper glory grew ; 
Above our heads the faint, few stars 

Looked out from the unfathomed blue ; 
And the fair city's clamorous jars 

Seemed melted in that evening hue. 

Oh sunset sky ! Oh purple tide ! 

Oh friends to friends that closer pressed ! 
Those glories have in darkness died. 

And ye have left my longing breast. 
I could not keep you by my side, 

JTor fix that radiance in the West. 

CTpon those rocks the waves shall beat 
With the same low and murmuring stram ; 



Across those waves, with glancing feet, 
The sunset rays shall seek the main ; 

But when together shall we meet 
Upon that far-off shore again ? 

TV. B. Qlaz77!h. 



THE OLD FAMILIAE FACES. 

I HAVE had playmates, I have had com- 
panions. 

In my days of childhood, in my joyful school • 
days; 

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have been laughing, I have been carousing, 
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom 

cronies ; 
All, aU are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I loved a love once, fairest among women ; 
Closed are her doors on me, I must not ?eo 

her; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man ; 
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly — 
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. 

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my 
childhood. 

Earth seemed a desert I was bound to trav- 
erse, 

Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a bro- 
ther. 

Why wert thou not born in my father's 
dwelling ? 

So might we talk of the old familiar faces — 

How some they have died, and some they 
have left me, 

And some are taken from me; aU are de- 
parted. 

All, all are gone, the old famihar faces ! 

Charles Lamu 



STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. 



183 



TO- 



Too late I stayed — forgive the crime — 

Unheeded flew the hours : 
How noiseless falls the foot of time 

That only treads on flowers ' 

And v-hD with clear account, remarks 

The ehbings of his glass, 
When all its sands are diamond sparks, 

That dazzle as they pass ? 

All ! who to sober measurement 
Time's happy swiftness brings, 

When birds of paradise have lent 
Their plumage to his wings ? 

EoBEET "William Spencer 



STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. 
[byeon to his sistee.] 

Inouon the day of my destiny 's over. 

And the star of my fate hath declined. 
Thy soft heart refused to discover 

The faults which so many could find; 
lliough thy soul with my grief was acquainted, 

It shrunk not to share it with me, 
And the love which my spirit hath painted 

It never hath found but in thee. 

Then when nature around me is smiling. 

The last smile which answers to mine, 
I do not believe it beguiling. 

Because it reminds me of thine ; 
As when winds are at war with the ocean. 

As the breasts I believed in with me. 
If their billows excite an emotion. 

It is that they bear me from thee. 

Though the rock of my last hope is shivered, 

And its fragments are sunk in the wave, 
Though I feel that my soul is delivered 

To pain — it shall not be its slave. 
There is many a pang to pursue me : 

They may crush, but they shall not con- 
temn — 
They may torture, but shall not subdue me — 

T is of thee that I think — not of them. 

Though human, thou didst not deceive me. 
Though woman, thou didst not forsake, 



Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me. 
Though slandered, thou never couldst shakci 

Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, 
Though parted, it was not to fly. 

Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me, 
Kor mute, that the world might belie. 

Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it, 

Nor the war of the many with one — 
If my soul was not fitted to prize it, 

'T was folly not sooner to shun ; 
And if dearly that error hath cost me, 

And more than I once could foresee, 
I have found that, whatever it lost me, 

It could not deprive me of thee. 

From the wreck of the past which hath per- 
ished 

Thus much I at least may recall. 
It hath taught me that what I most cherished 

Deserved to be dearest of all. 
In the desert a fountain is springing, 

In the wild waste there stiU is a tree, 
And a bird in the solitude singing, 

Which speaks to my spirit of thee. 

Lord Bteon. 



WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER. 

We have been friends together, 

In sunshine and in shade ; 
Since first beneath the chestnut-trees 

In infancy we played. 
But coldness dwells within thy heart— 

A cloud is on thy brow ; 
We have been friends together — 

Shall a light word part us now? 

We have been gay together ; 

We have laughed at little jests ; 
For the fount of hope was gushing, 

Warm and joyous, in our breasts. 
But laughter now hath fled thy lip, 

And sullen glooms thy brow ; 
We have been gay together— 

Shall a light word part us now ? 

We have been sad together — 
We have wept, with bitter tears. 

O'er the grass-grown graves, where slum 
bered 
The hopes of early years. 



184 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



The voices which are silent there 
Would bid thee clear thy brow ; 

We have been sad together — 
Oh ! what shall part us now ? 

Caeoline Noeton. 



GIVE ME THE OLD. 

OLD WINE TO DKINK, OLD WOOD TO BTIEN, OLD 
BOOKS TO EEAD, AND OLD FEIENDS TO CON- 
VERSE WITH. 



Old wine to drink ! — 
xiy, give the slippery juice 
That drippeth from the grape thrown loose 

Within the tun ; 
Plucked from beneath the cliff 
Of sunny-sided Teneriffe, 
And ripened 'neath the blink 

Of India's sun ! 

Peat whiskey hot, 
Tempered with well-boiled water ! 
These make the long night shorter, — 

Forgetting not 
Good stout old English porter. 



Old wood to burn ! — 
Ay, bring the hill-side beech 
From where the owlets meet and screech, 

And ravens croak ; 
The crackling pine, and cedar sweet ; 
Bring too a clump of fragrant peat, 
Dug 'neath the fern ; 

The knotted oak, 

A faggot too, perhap. 
Whose bright flame, dancing, winking. 
Shall light us at our drinking ; 

While the oozing sap 
Shall make sweet music to our thinking. 

III. 

Old books to read ! — 
Ay, bring those nodes of wit. 
The brazen- clasped, the vellum writ. 
Time honored tomes I 



The same my sire scanned before, 
The same my grandsire thumbed o'er, 
The same his sire from college bore, 
The well-earned meed 

Of Oxford's domes : 

Old Homer blind, 
Old Horace, rake Anacreon, by 
Old TuUy, Plautus, Terence lie ; 
Mort Arthur's olden rainstrelsie, 
Quaint Burton, quainter Spenser, ay! 
And Gervase Markham's venerie — 

Nor leave behind 
The Holye Book by which we live and die. 

IV. 

Old friends to talk ! — 
Ay, bring those chosen few. 
The wise, the courtly, and the true, 

So rarely found ; 
Him for my wine, him for my stud, 
Him for my easel, distich, bud 
In mountain walk ! 
Bring Walter good : 
With soulful Fred ; and learned Will, 
And thee, my alter ego^ (dearer still 
For every mood). 

EoBEET Hinckley MEserKOKii. 



SPARKLING AND BRIGHT. 

Spaekling and bright in liquid light, 
Does the wine our goblets gleam in ; 
With hue as red as the rosy bed 
Which a bee would choose to dream in. 
Then Jill to-night^ with hearts as lights 

To loves as gay and fleeting 
As lubhles that swim on the 'beaker'' s hrim^ 
And trealc on the lips while meeting. 

Oh ! if Mirth might arrest the flight 
Of Time through Life's dominions, 
We here a while would now beguile 
The graybeard of his pinions. 

To drinlc to-night^ with hearts as lights 

To loves as gay and fleeting 
As bubbles that swim on the beuler^s hriin.^ 
And break on the lips while meeting.^ 



I 



CONVIVIAL SONGS. 



185 



Dut since Delight can't tempt the wight, 
Nor fond Regret delay him, 
N'or Love himself can hold the elf, 
Nor sober Friendship stay him, 

We^ll drinh to-niglit^ with Jiearts as ligtit^ 

To loves as gay and fleeting 
As hubbies that swim on the beaker's brim^ 
And brealc on the lips while meeting. 

Charles Fenno Hoffman. 



WREATHE THE BOWL. 

Weeathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul. 

The brightest wit can find us ; 
We '11 take a flight 
Towards heav'n to-night. 

And leave dull earth behind us ! 
Should Love amid 
The wreaths be hid 

Tliat Joy, the enchanter, brings us, 
No danger fear 
While wine is near — 

We'l. drown him if he stings us. 
Then wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul, 

The brightest wit can find us ; 
We'll take a flight 
Towards heav'n to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us ! 

'T was nectar fed 

Of old, 'tis said. 
Their Junos, Joves, ApoUos ; 

And man may brew 

His nectar too ; 
The rich receipt 's as follows — 

Take wine like this ; 

Let looks of bliss 
Around it well be blended; 

Then bring wit's beam 

To warm the stream. 
And there 's your nectar, splendid I 

So wreathe the bowl 

With flowers of soul. 
The briglitest wit can find us; 

We'll take a flight 

Towards heav'n to-night, 
And leave dull earth behind us I 



Say, why did time 
His glass sublime 

Fill up with sands unsightly, 
When wine he knew 
Runs brisker through, 

And sparkles far more brightly ? 
Oh, lend it us, 
And, smiling .thus. 

The glass in two we 'd sever, 
Make pleasure glide 
In double tide, 

And fill both ends for ever ! 

Then wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul. 

The brightest wit can flnd us ; 
We'll take a flight 
Towards heav'n to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us ! 



Thomas M(:)Okk. 



CHAMP AGKE ROSE. 

Lily on liquid roses floating — 

So floats yon foam o'er pink champagne- 
Fain would I join such pleasant boating. 

And prove that ruby main. 
And float away on wine ! 

Those seas are dangerous, graybeards swear— 
Whose sea-beach is the goblet's brim ; 

And true it is they drown old care — 
But what care we for him. 
So we but float on wine ! 

And true it is they cross in pain. 
Who sober cross the Stygian ferry ; 

But only make our Styx champagne. 
And we shall cross right merry. 
Floating away in wine ! 

Old Charon's self shall make him mellow, 

Then gayly row his boat from shore ; 
While we, and every jovial fellow. 
Hear, unconcerned, the oar, 
That dips itself in wine ! 

John Kenyoh 



186 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



FILL THE BUMPER FAIR. 

Fill the ])umper fair ! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of care 

Smooths away a wrinkle. 
Wit's electric flame 

Ne'er so swiftly passes 
As when through the frame 

It shoots from brimming glasses. 
Fill the bumper fair ! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of care 

Smooths away a wrinkle. 

Sages can, they say, 

Grasp the lightning's pinions, 
And bring down its ray 

From the starred dominions: — 
So we, sages, sit. 

And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning, 
From the heaven of wit 

Draw down all its lightning. 

Wouldst thou know what first 

Made our souls inherit 
This ennobling thirst 

For wine's celestial spirit ? 
It chanced upon that day, 

When, as bards inform us, 
Prometheus stole away 

The living fires that warm us : 

The careless Youth, when up 

To Glory's fount aspiring. 
Took nor urn nor cup 

To hide the pilfered fire in.- - 
But oh his joy, when, round 

The halls of heaven spyino 
Among the stars, he found 

A bowl of Bacchus lying ! 

Some drops were in that bowl. 

Remains of last night's pleasure, 
With which the sparks of soul 

Mixed their burning treasure. 
Hence the goblet's shower 

Hath such spells to win us ; 
Hence its mighty power 

O'er that flame within us. 



Fill the bumper fair ! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smooths away a wrinkle. 

Thomas Moobe. 



AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE 
THIS. 

AxD doth not a meeting like this make 

amends 
For all the long years I 've been wand'rina 

away — 
To see thus around me my youth's early 

friends. 
As smiling and kind as in that happy day ? 
Though haply o'er some of your brows, as 

o'er mine. 
The snow-fall of Time may be stealing — what 

then? 
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, 
We '11 wear the gay tinge of Youth's rose^- 

again. 

What softened remembrances come o'er tlie 

heart. 
In gazing on those we've been lost to so long I 
The sorrows, the joys, of which once they 

were part. 
Still round them, like visions of yesterday, 

throng ; 
As letters some hand hath invisibly traced, 
When held to the flame will steal out on the 

sight, 
So many a feeling, that long seemed eflkced, 
The warmth of a moment like this brings to 

light. 

And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide, 
To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew. 
Though oft we may see, looking down on the 

tide. 
The wreck of full many a hope shining 

through ; 
Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flower? 
That once made a garden of all the gay shore, 
Deceived for a moment, we'll think them 

still ours. 
And breathe the fresh air of Life's morninju 

once more. 



CONVIVIAL SONGS. 



18'/ 



^o brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most. 
Is all we can have of the few we hold dear ; 
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost 
For want of some heart that could echo it, 

near. 
Ah, well may we hope, when this short life 

is gone, 
To meet in some world of more permanent 

bliss ; 
For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning 

on. 
Is all we enjoy of each other in this. 

But, come, the more rare such delights to the 

lieart. 
The more we should welcome, and bless them 

the more ; 
They're ours, when we meet — they are lost 

when we part — 
Likf-' birds that bring Summer, and fly when 

'tis o'er. 
Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we 

drink, 
f;et Sympathy pledge us, through pleasure, 

through pain. 

That, fast as a feeling but touches one link. 

Her magic shaL send it direct through the 

chain. 

Thomas Mooek. 



HOW sta:n'ds the glass around? 

How stands the ghass around? 
Fur shame! ye take no care, my boys ; 

How stands the glass around? 

Let mirth and wine abound. 

The trumpets sound ; 
The colors they are flying, boys. 

To fight, kill, or wound. 

May we still be found 
Content with our hard fare, m} boys 

On the cold ground. 

Why, soldiers, wh} 
Should we be melancholy, boys? 
Why, soldiers, why. 
Whose business 'tis to die? 
What, sighing? fie I 



Don't fear, drink on, be jolly, boys! 

'T is he, you, or I ! 

Cold, hot, wet or dry. 
We 're always bound to follow, boys, 

And scorn to fly. 

'T is but in vain — 
I mean not to upbraid you, boys — 

'Tis but in vain 

For soldiers to com^jlain : 

Should next campaign 
Send us to Him who made us, boys, 

We 're free from pain ! 

But if we remain, 
A bottle and a kind landlady 

Cure all again. 

AlONYMOUa 



COME, SEND PwOUND THE WINE. 

Come, send round the wine, and leave points 

of belief 
To simpleton sages and reasoning fools ; 
This moment 's a flower too fair and brief 
To be withered and stained by the dust of the 

schools. 
Your glass may be purple, and mine may be 

blue. 
But while they are filled from the same bright 

bowl, 
The fool who would quarrel for difiTerence of 

hue 
Deserves not the comfort tliey shed o'er the 

soul. 

Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by 

my side, 
In the cause of mankind, if our creeds may 

agree ? 
Shall 1 give up the friend I have valued and 

tried, 
If he kneel not before the same altar with mo? 
From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly 
To seek somewhere else a more orthodox 

kiss? 
No ! perish the hearts and the laws tliat try 
Truth, vak)r, or love, by a standard like this! 

Thomas Moobb. 



18S 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



FRIEISTD OF MY SOUL. 

Feiexd of my soul ! this goblet sip — 

'T will chase the pensive tear ; 
'T is not so sweet as woman's lip, 

But, oh! 't is more sincere. 
Like her delusive beam, 

'T will steal away the mind. 
But unlike affection's dream, 

It leaves no sting behind. 

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade- 

These flowers were culled at noon ; 
Like woman's love the rose will fade, 

But ah ! not half so soon : 
For though the flower's decayed, 

Its fragrance is not o'er ; 
But once when love's betraj^ed, 

The heart can bloom no more. 

Thomas Mooke. 



TO THOMAS MOORE. 

My boat is on the shore, 

And my bark is on the sea ; 
But, before I go, Tom Moore, 

Here 's a double health to thee ! 

Here 's a sigh for those that love me. 
And a smile for those who hate ; 

And, whatever sky 's aboT e me. 
Here 's a heart for every fate. 

Though the ocean roar around me. 
Yet it still shall bear me on ; 

Though a desert should surround me. 
It hath springs that may be won. 

Were 't the last drop in the well. 

As I gasped upon the brink, 
Ere my fainting spirit fell 

'T is to thee that I would drink. 

With that water, as this wine. 

The libation I would pour 
Should be — Peace with thine and mine. 

And a health to thee, Tom Moore ! 

Lord Bykon. 



FAREWELL! BUT WHEN^EVER YOU 
WELCOME THE HOUR. 

Faeewell ! but whenever yci v^^elcome tlie 

hour 
That awakens the night- song of mirth in yoru 

bower. 
Then think of the friend who once wel comer' 

it too, 
, And forgot his own griefs to be nappy with 

j you. 

I His griefs may return — not a hope may remain 
Of the few that have brightened his pathway 

! of pain — 

I But he ne'er will forget the short vision that 

» threw 

Its enchantment around him while lingering 
with you ! 

And still on that evening, when pleasure 

fills up 
To the highest top-sparkle each heart and 

each cup. 
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, 
My soul, happy friends! shall be with yoa 

that night — 
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and 

your wiles. 
And return to me beaming all o'er with your 

smiles ; 
Too blest if it tells me that, mid the gay 

cheer. 
Some kind voice had murmured, "I wish he 

were here ! " 

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy. 
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot; 

destroy ! 
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and 

care. 
And bring back the features that joy used U' 

wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories 

filled! 
Like the vase in which roses have once been 

distilled ; 
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you 

will. 

But the scent of the roses will hang round it 

still. 

Thomas Moobk. 



■ 



THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 



18S 



THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 

A STREET there is in Paris famous, 

For which no rhyme our language yields, 
Rae Neuve des petits Champs its name is — 

The I^Tew Street of the Little Fields ; 
A nd there 's an inn, not rich and splendid, 

But still in comfortable case — 
The which in youth I oft attended, 

To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse. 

This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is— 

A sort of soup, or broth, or brew. 
Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, 

That Greenwich never could outdo ; 
Green herbs, red peppers, muscles, saffern, 

Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace : 
All these you eat at Terre's tavern. 

In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. 

Indeed, a rich and savory stew 't is ; 

And true philosophers, methinks, 
Who love all sorts of natural beauties, 

Should love good victuals and good drinks, 
ind Cordelier or Benedictine 

Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace, 
^^ur find a fast-day too afflicting, 

Which served him up a Bouillabaisse. 

J wonder if the house still there is ? 

Yes, here the lamp is as before ; 
The smiling, red-cheeked ecaillere is 

Still opening oysters at the door. 
Is Terre still alive and able ? 

I recollect his droll grimace ; 
He 'd come and smile before your table. 

And hoped you liked your Bouillabaisse. 

We enter ; nothing 's changed or older. 
"How's Monsieur Terre, waiter, pray?" 

The waiter stares and shrugs his shoulder ; — 
"Monsieur is dead this many a day." 

^* It is the lot of saint and sinnefc 
So honest Terr6 's run his race i " 
What will Monsieur require for dinner 1 " 
"Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse?" 

'*0h, oui. Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer; 

" Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il ? " 
•*Tell me a good one." "That I can, sir; 

The Chamberlin with yellow seal." 



" So Terre's gone," I say, and sink in 
My old accustomed corner-place ; 

"He 's done with feasting and with drinking. 
With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse." 

My old accustomed corner here is — 

The table still is in the nook ; 
Ah ! vanished many a busy year is, 

This well-known chair since last I took. 
When first I saw ye, Oari luoghi, 

I 'd scarce a beard upon my face, 
And now a grizzled, grim old fogy, 

I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse. 

Where are you, old companions trusty 

Of early days, here met to dine ? 
Come, waiter ! quick, a flagon crusty — 

I '11 pledge them in the good old wine. 
The kind old voices and old faces 

My memory can quick retrace ; 
Around the board they take their places, 

And share the wine and Bouillabaisse. 

There 's Jack has made a wondrous marriage ; 

There 's laughing Tom is laughing yet ; 
There 's brave Augustus drives his carriage ; 

There 's poor old Fred in the Gazette ; 
On James's head the grass is growing : 

Good Lord ! the world has wagged apace 
^ Since here we set the Claret flowing. 

And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse. 

Ah me ! how quick the days are flitting ! 

I mind me of a time that 's gone, 
When here I 'd sit, as now I 'm sitting, 

In this same place — but not alone 
A fair young form was nestled near me, 

A dear, dear face looked fondly up, 
And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me. 

— There 's no one now to share my cup. 
■H * * * 

I drink it as the Fates ordain it. 

Come, fill it, and have done with rliymes* 
Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it 

In memory of dear old times. 
Welcome the Avine, whate'er the seal is ; 

And sit you down and say your grace 
With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is, 

— Hero comes the smoking Bouillabaisse! 
William Maeepeacr Thacke&at. 



90 



POEMS OF FRIENDSniP. 



OH FILL THE WI¥E-CUP HIGH I 

Oh fill tlie wine-cup high ! 

The sparkling liquor pour ; 
For we will care and grief defy, 

They ne'er shall plague us more. 
And ere the snowy foam 

From off the wine departs, 
The precious draught shall find a home. 

A dwelling in our hearts. 

Though bright may be the beams 

That woman's eyes display : 
They are not like the ruby gleams 

That in our goblets play. 
For though surpassing bright 

Their brilliancy may be, 
Age dims the lustre of their light 

Hut adds more worth to thee. 

Give me another draught, 

The sparkling, and the strong ; 
He who would le^fi-n the poet craft — 

He who would shine in song — 
Should pledge the flowing bowl 

With warm and generous wine ; 
'Twas wine that warmed Anacreon's soul, 

And made his songs divine. 

And e'en in tragedy, 

Who lives that never knew 
The honey of the Attic Bee 

Was gathered from thy dew I 
He of the tragic muse, 

Whose praises bards rehearse ; 
What power but thine could e'er diffuse 

Such sweetness o'er his verse ? 

Oh would that I could raise 

The magic of that tongue ; 
The spirit of those deathless lays. 

The Swan of Teios sung! 
Each song the bard has given 

Its beauty and its worth, 
Sounds sweet as if a voice from heaven 

Was echoed upon the earth. 

How mighty — how divine, 

Thy spirit seemeth when 
The rich drauglit of the purple vine 

Dwelt in these godhke men. 



It made each glowing page, 

Its eloquence, and truth, 
In the glory of their golden age, 

Outshine the fire of youth. 

Joy to the lone heart — joy 

To the desolate — oppressed ; 
For wine can every grief destroy 

That gathers in the breast. 
The sorrows and the care. 

That in our hearts abide, 
'Twill chase them from their dwellings 
there. 

To drown them in its tide. 

And now the heart grows warm 

With feelings undefined, 
Throwing their deep diffusive charm 

O'er all the realms of mind. 
The lovehness of truth 

Flings out its brightest rays. 
Clothed in the thongs of early youth. 

Or joys of other days. 

We think of her, the young, 

The beautifal, the bright. 
We hear the music of her tongue, 

Breathing its deep delight. 
We see again each glance. 

Each bright and dazzling beam. 
We feel our throbbing hearts still danoo, 

We live but in a dream. 

From darkness, and from woe, 

A power like lightning darts; 
A glory cometh down to throw 

Its shadows o'er our hearts ; 
And dimmed by falling tears, 

A spirit seems to rise. 
That shows the friend of other years 

Is mirrored in our eyes. 

But sorrow, grief, and care. 

Had dimmed his setting star ; 
And we think with tears of those that 
were. 

To smile on those that are. 
Yet though the grassy mound 

Sits lightly on his head, 
We'll pledge, in solemn silence rountl 

The memory of the dead ! 



4 



SAINT PERAl. 



lUl 



The sparkling juice now pour, 

With fond and liberal hand ; 
Oh raise the laughing rim once more, 

Here 's to our Fatherland ! 
Up, every soul that hears, 

Hurrah ! with three times three ; 
And shout aloud, with deafening cheers, 
• The " Island of the Free ! " 

Then fill the wine-cup high. 

The sparkling liquor pour ; 
For we will care and grief defy. 

They ne'er shall plague us more. 
And ere the snowy foam 

From off the wine departs. 
The precious draught shall find a home — 

A dwelling in our hearts. 

EoBEKT Folkestone Williams. 



SAmT PEEAY. 

ADDRESSED TO H. T. P. 

When to any saint I pray, 
It shall be to Saint Peray, 
He alone, of all the brood. 
Ever did me any good : 
Many I have tried that are 
Humbugs in the calendar. 

On the Atlantic, faint and sick. 
Once I prayed Saint Dominick : 
He was holy, sure, and wise ; — 
Was 't not he that did devise 
Auto da Fes and rosaries ? — 
But for one in my condition 
This good saint was no physician. 

Next, in pleasant N'ormandie, 
I made a prayer to Saint Denis, 
In the great cathedral, where 

All the ancient kings repose ; 
Hut, how I was swindled there 

At the " Golden Fleece," — ^he knows I 

fn my wanderings, vague and various. 
Reaching N'aples — as I lay 
Watching Vesuvius from the bay, 

I besought Saint Januarius ; 



But I was a fool to try him ; 
Kaught I said could liquefy him ; 
And I swear he did me wrong. 
Keeping me shut up so long 
In that pest-house, with obscene 
Jews and Greeks and things unclean — 
What need had I of quarantine ? 

In Sicily at least a score — 
In Spain about as many more — 
And in Rome almost as many 
As the loves of Don Giovanni, 
Did I pray to — sans reply ; 
Devil take the tribe ! — said I. 

Worn with travel, tired and lame, 

To Assisi's walls I came ; 

Sad and full of homesijck fancies, 

I addressed me to Saint Francis ; 

But the beggar never did 

Any thing as he was bid, 

ITever gave me aught — but fleas — 

Plenty had I at Assise. 

But in Provence, near Vaucluse, 

Hard by the Rhone, I found a Saint 
Gifted with a wondrous juice, 

Potent for the worst complaint 
'T was at Avignon that first — 
In the witching time of thirst — 
To my brain the knowledge came 
Of this blessed Catholic's name ; 
Forty miles of dust that day 
Made me welcome Saint Peray. 

Though till then I had not heard 
Aught about him, ere a third 
Of a litre passed my lips. 
All saints else were in eclipse. 
For his gentle spirit glided 

With such magic into mine, 
That methonght such bliss as I did 

Poet never drew from wine. 

Rest he gave me, and refection — 

Chastened hopes, cahn retrospection— 

Softened images of sorrow, 

Bright forebodings for the morrow — 

Charity for what is past — 

Faith in something good at last. 

Now, why should any almanack 
The name of this good creature lack ? 



192 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



Or wherefore should the breviary 
Omit a saint so sage and merry ? 
The Pope himself should grant a day 
Especially to Saint Peray. 
But, since no day hath been appointed, 
On purpose, by the Lord's anointed. 
Let us not wait — we '11 do him right ; 
Send round your bottles, Hal — and set 
your night. 

TaoMAs William Paesons. 



AULD LANG SYKE. 



Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 

And never brought to min' ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 

And days o' lang syne ? 
For auld lang syne, ray dear. 

For auld lang syne, 
We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne ! 



We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we 've wandered mony a weary foot 

Sin auld lang syne. 

in. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn 

Frae mornin' sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roared 

Sin auld lang syne. 

IV. 

And here's a liand, my trusty fiere. 

And gle 's a hand o' thine ; 
And we '11 tak a right guid willie-waught 

For auld lang syne ! 

V. 

And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp. 

And surely I '11 be mine ; 
And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne. 

We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet. 

For auld lang syne! 

Robert Burns. 



ISriGHT AT SEA. 

The lovely purple of the noon's bestowing 
Has vanished from the waters, where it 
flung 
A royal color, such as gems are throwing 

Tyrian or regal garniture among. 
'T is night, and overhead the sky is gleaming, 
Through the slight vapor trembles each dim 
star; 
I turn away — my heart is sadly dreaming 
Of scenes they do not light, of scenes afar. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Do you think of me, as I think of you? 

By each dark wave around the vessel sweep- 
ing, 
Farther am I from old dear friends re- 
moved ; 
Till the lone vigil that I now am keeping, 
I did not know how much you were be- 
loved. 
How many acts of kindness little heeded, 
Eind looks, kind words, rise half reproach 
ful now ! 
Hurried and anxious, my vexed life haa 
speeded, 
And memory wears a soft accusing brow. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
Do you think of me, as I think of you? 

The very stars are strangers, as I catch them 
Athwart the shadowy sails that swell 
above ; 
I cannot hope that other eyes will watch them 

At the same moment with a mutual love. 
They shme not there, as here they now are 
shining ; 
The very hours are changed. — ^Ah, do ye 
sleep ? 
O'er each home pillow midnight is declining — 
May some kind di-eam at least my imago 
keep ! 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
Do you thmk of me, as I think of you? 

Yesterday has a charm, To-day could never 
Fling o'er the mind, which knows not till 
it pai*ts 



NIGHT AT SEA. 



193 



How it turns back with tender est endeavor 
To fix the past within the heart of hearts. 
Absence is full of roemory ; it teaches 
The value of all old familiar things ; 
The strengthener of affection, while it 
reaches 
O'er the dark parting, with an angePs 
wings. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

Do you think of me, as I think of you ? 

The world, with one vast element omitted — 

Man's own especial element, the earth ; 
Yet, o'er the waters is his rule transmitted 
By that great knowledge whence has power 
its birth. 
How oft on some strange loveliness while 
gazing 
Have I wished for you — beautiful as new, 
The purple waves like some wild army rais- 
ing 
Their snowy banners as the ship cuts 
through. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
Do you think of me, as I think of you ! 

Bearing upon its wings the hues of morn- 

Up springs the flying fish hke life's false 
joy, 
Which of the sunshine asks that frail adorn- 
ing 
"Whose very light is fated to destroy. 
Ah, so doth genius on its rainbow pinion 
Spring from the depths of an unkindly 
world ; 
So spring sweet fancies from the heart's 
dominion — 
Too soon in death the scorched-up wing is 
furled. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

'\VTiate'er I see is linked with thoughts 
of you. 

No life is in the air, but in the waters 
Are creatures, huge, and terrible, and 
strong ; 
Tlie sword-fish and the shark pursue their 
slaughters. 
War universal reigns these depths along. 
29 



Like some new island on the ocean spring 

Floats on the surface some gigantic whale, 
From its vast head a silver fountain flinging, 
-Bright as the fountain in a fairy tale. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 

I read such fairy legends while with 
vou. 



Light is amid the gloomy canvas spreading, 

The moon is whitening the dusky sails. 
From the thick bank of clouds she masters, 
shedding 
The softest influence that o'er night pre- 
vails. 
Pale is she like a young queen pale with 
splendor. 
Haunted with passionate thoughts too fond 
too deep ; 
The very glory that she wears is tender, 
The eyes that watch her beauty fain would 
weep. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
Do you think of me, as I think of youi 



Sunshine is ever cheerful, when the morning 
Wakens the world with cloud-dispelling 
eyes ; 
The spirits mount to glad endeavor, scorning 

What toil upon a path so sunny lies. 
Sunshine and hope are comrades, and their 
weather 
Calls into life an energy like Spring's ; 
But memory and moonlight go together, 
Keflected in the light that either brings. 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
Do you think of me, then ? I think 
of you. 



The busy deck is hushed, no soimds are wak- 
ing 
But the watch pacing silently and slow ; 
The waves against the sides incea^ant break- 
ing, 
And rope and canvas swaying to and fro. 
The topmast sail, it seems like some dim pin 
nacle 
Cresting a shadowy tower amid the air ; 



(94 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



^Yhile red and fitful gleams come from the 
binnacle. 
The only light on board to guide us — 
where ? 
Mj friends, my absent friends ! 

Far from my native land, and far from 
you. 

On one side of the ship, the moonbeam's 
shimmer 
In luminous vibrations sweeps the sea, 
But where the shadow falls, a strange, pale 
glimmer 
Seems, glow-worm like, amid the waves 
to be. 
411 that the spirit thinks of thought and feel- 

Takes visionary hues from such an hour ; 
But while some phantasy is o'er me stealing, 
I start — remembrance has a keener power : 
My friends, my absent friends ! 
From the fair dream I start to think 
of you. 

A. dusk line in the moonlight — I discover 

"What all day long vainly I sought to catch ; 
Or is it but the varying clouds that hover 

Thick in the air, to mock the eyes that 
watch ? 
No; well the sailor knows each speck, ap- 
pearing, 

Upon the tossing waves, the far-off strand ; 
To that dark line our eager ship is steering. 

Her voyage done — ^to-morrow we shall 

land. 

L^TiTiA Elizabeth Landon. 



THE JOURlsrEY ONWAEDS. 

As slow our ship her foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving, 
Her trembling pennant still looked back 

To that dear isle 't was leaving. 
So loth we part from all we love. 

From all the links that bind us ; 
So tiUTi our hearts, as on we rovo, 

To those we 've left behind us I 



When, round the bowl, of vanished yeai^ 

We talk with joyous seeming — 
With smiles that might as well be tears, 

So faint, so sad their beaming ; 
While memory brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us, 
Oh sweet 's the cup that circles then 

To those we Ve left behind us ! 

And when, in other climes, we meet 

Some isle or vale enchanting. 
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet, 

And naught but love is wanting ; 
We think how great had been om' bliss 

If Heaven had but assigned us 
To live and die in scenes like this, 

With some we Ve left behind us I 

As travellers oft look back at eve 

When eastward darkly going, 
To gaze upon that light they leave 

Still faint behind them glowing, — 
So, when the close of pleasure's day 

To gloom hath near consigned us, I 
We turn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that 's left behind us. 

Thomas MooiiM. 






THE MAHOOAI^TY TREE. 

Christmas is here ; 
Winds whistle shrill, 
Icy and chill. 
Little care we ; 
Little we fear 
Weather without, 
Sheltered about 
The Mahogany Tree, 

Once on the boughs 
Birds of rare plume 
Sang, in its bloom ; 
Night birds are we ; 
Here we carouse. 
Singing, Hke tliem. 
Perched round the sfcero 
Of the jolly old tree. 

Here let us sport. 
Boys, as we sit — 
Laughter and wit 
Flashing so free. 



i 



CHRISTMAS. 



195 



Life is but short — 
When we are gone, 
Let them sing on, 
Eound the old tree. 

Evenings we knew, 
Happy as this ; 
Faces we miss. 
Pleasant to see. 
Kind hearts and true. 
Gentle and just, 
Peace to your dust ! 
We sing round the tree. 

Care, like a dun, 
Lurks at the gate : 
Let the dog wait ; 
Happy we '11 be ! 
Drink, every one ; 
Pile up the coals ; 
Fill the red bowls, 
Eound the old tree ! 

Drain we the cup. — 
Friend, art afraid ? 
Spirits are laid 
In the Red Sea. 
Mantle it up ; 
Empty it yet ; 
Let us forget, 
Ptound the old tree I 

Sorrows begone ! 
Life and its ills. 
Duns and their bills, 
Bid we to flee. 
Come with the dawn, 
Blue-devil sprite ; 
Leave us to-night. 
Round the old tree ! 

William Makepeace Thackekay. 



-^ 



CHRISTMAS. 

So now is come bur joyful'st feast; 

Let every man be jolly ; 
Each room with ivy leaves is drest, 

And every post with holly. 
Though some cliurls at our mirth repine, 
Round your foreheads garlands twine, 



Drown sorrow in a cup of wine. 
And let us all be merry. 

' IsTow all our neighbors' chimneys smoke, 
And Christmas blocks are burning ; 

Their ovens they with baked meat choke, 
And all their spits are turning. 

Without the door let sorrow lie ;" 

And if for cold it hap to die, 

We '11 bury 't in a Christmas pie. 
And evermore be merry. 

Now every lad is wond'rous trim. 

And no man minds his labor ; 
Our lasses have provided them 

A bagpipe and a tabor ; 
Young men and maids, and girls and boys, 
Give life to one another's joys ; 
And you anon shall by their noise 

Perceive that they are merry. 

Rank misers now do sparing shun — 

Their hall of music soundeth ; 
And dogs thence with whole shoulders run, 

So aU things there aboundeth. 
The country folks themselves advance. 
With crowdy-muttons out of France ; 
And Jack shall pipe, and Gill shall dance. 

And all the town be merry. 

Ned Squash has fetched his bands from pawn 

And all his best appai-el ; 
Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn 

With dropping of the barrel. 
And those that hardly all the year 
Had bread to eat, or rags to wear. 
Will have both clothes and dainty fare, 

And all the day be merry. 

Now poor men to the justices 
With capons make their errants ; 

And if they hap to fail ofthese. 
They plague them with their warrants : 

But now they feed them with good cheer, 

And what they want they take in beer ; 

For Christmas comes but once a yeai% 
And then they shall be merry. 

Good farmers in the country nurse 
The poor, that else were undone ; 

Some landlords spend their money worse, 
On lust and pride at London. 



196 



POEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



There the roysters they do play, 
Drab and dice their lands away, 
Wliich may be ours another day, 
And therefore let 's be merry. 

The client now his suit forbears ; 

The prisoner's heart is eased ; 
Tlie debtor drinks away his cares, 

And for the time is pleased. 
Though others* purses be more fat. 
Why should we pine or grieve at that ? 
Hang sorrow ! Care will kill a cat — 

And therefore let's be merry. 

Hark ! now the wags abroad do call 

Each other forth to rambling ; 
Anon you'll see them in the hall, 

Eor nuts and apples scrambling. 
Hark ! how the roofs with laughter sound ! 
A.non they'll think the house goes round. 
For they the cellar's depth have found, 

And there they will be merry. 

The wenches with their wassail bowls 

About the streets are singing ; 
The boys are come to catch the owls 

The wild mare in is bringing. 
Our kitchen boy hath broke his box ; I 

And to the dealing of the ox 
Our honest neighbors come by flocks, 

And here they m iH be merry. 

N"ow kings and queens poor sheepcotes have. 

And mate with everybody ; 
The honest now may play the knave. 

And wise men play the noddy. 
Some youths will now a mumming go. 
Some others play at Rowland-bo, 
And twenty other game boys mo, 

Because they will be merry 



Then wherefore, in these merry days, 

Should we, I pray, be duller ? 
l>ro, let us sing some roundelays, 

To make our mirth the fuller ; 
And, while we thus inspired sing. 
Let all the streets with echoes ring ; 
Woods and hills, and every thing. 

Bear witness we are merry ! 

George Withbb. 



WHAT MIGHT RE DONE. 

What might be done if men were wise — 
What glorious deeds, ray suffering brother 

Would they unite 

In love and right. 
And cease their scorn of one another ? 

Oppression's heart might be imbued 
With kindling drops of loving-kindness ; 

And knowledge pour. 

From shore to shore. 
Light on the eyes of mental blindness. 

AU slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs, 
AU vice and crime, might die together; 
And wine and corn. 
To each man born. 
Be free as warmth in summer weather. 

The meanest wretch that ever trod, 
The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow, 

Might stand erect 

In self-respect, 
And share the teeming world to-morrow. 

What might be done ? This might be done, 
And more than this, my suffemg brother- 
More than the tongue 
E'er said or sung, 
If men were wise and loved each other. 
Charles Maceay. 



PART IT. 

POEMS OF LOVE 



Love ? I will tell thee what it is to love ! 

It is to build with human thoughts a shrine, 

Where Hope sits brooding like a beauteous dove , 

Where Time seems young, and Life a thing divine. 

All tastes, all pleasures, all desires combine 

To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss. 

Above, the stars in cloudless beauty shine ; 

Around, the streams their flowery margins kiss ; 

And if there *s heaven on earth, that heaven is surely this. 

Yes, this is I^ove, the steadfast and the true, 

The immortal glory which hath never set ; 

The best, the brightest boon the heart e'er knew : 

Of all life's sweets the very sweetest yet ! 

O ! who but can recall the eve they met 

To breathe, in some green walk, their first young vow ? 

While summer flowers with moonlight dews were wet, 

Aud winds sighed soft around the mountain's brow, 

Aud all ^as rapture then which is but memory now ! 

Chapxes Sttain. 



4 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



SIR OAULmE. 



THE FIEST PAET. 



[n Ireland, ferr over the sea, 
There dwelleth a bonnje kinge ; 

And with him a yong and comlye knighte. 
Men call him Syr Oauline. 

The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, 
In fashyon she hath no peere ; 

And princely wightes that ladye wooed 
To be theyr wedded fere. 

Syr Oauline loveth her best of all. 

But nothing durst he saye, 
N'e descreeve his counsayl to no man, 

But deerlye he lovde this may. 

rill on a daye it so beffell 

Great dill to him was dight ; 
The mayden's love removde his mind, 

To care-bed went the knighte. 

One while he spred his armes him fro, 
One while he spred them nye : 

■'And aye! but I winne that ladye's love. 
For dole now I mun dye." 

And whan our parish-masse was done, 
Our kinge was bowne to dyne: 

He sayes, " Where is Syr Oauline, 
That is wont to serve the wyne?" 

Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte. 
And fast his handes gan wringe ; 

''Syr Onuline is sicke, and like to dye, 
Witliout a good leechinge." 



" Fetche me downe my daughter deere, 

She is a leeche fuUo fine ; 
Goe take him doughe and the baken bread^ 
And serve him with the wyne soe red : 

Lothe I were him to tine." 

Fair Ohristabelle to his chaumber goes. 

Her maydens followyng nye : 
" Oh well," she sayth, " how doth my lord V 

" Oh sicke, thou fayr ladye." 

"Kowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame; 

ITever lye soe cowardice ; 
For it is told in my father's halle 

You dye for love of mee." 

"Fayre ladye, it is for your love 

That all this dill I drye : 
For if you wold comfort me witli a kisse, 
Then were I brought from bale to blisse, 

'No lenger wold I lye." 

" Syr knighte, my father is a kinge, 

I am his onlye heire ; 
Alas ! and well you knowe, syr knighte, 

I never can be youre fere." 

'' ladye, thou art a kinge's daugliter, 

And I am not thy peere ; 
But let me doe some deedes of armes. 

To be your bacheleere." 

" Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doc, 

My bacheleere to bee 
(But ever and aye my heart wold ruo, 

GLff harm should happe to thee,) 



0)0 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



^* Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne, 

Upon the mores brodinge ; 
Ajid dare ye, sjr knighte, wake there all 
nighte, 

Untill the fayre morninge ? 

'•For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of 
mighte. 

Will examine you beforne ; 
And never man bare life awaye, 

But he did him scath and scorne. 

''That knighte he is a foul paynim, 

And large of dmb and bone ; 
And but if heaven may be thy speede, 

Thy life it is but gone." 

'' No we on the Eldridge hilles He walke. 

For thy sake, fair ladie ; 
And He either bring you a ready token, 

Or He never more you see." 

The lady is gone to her own chaumbere. 

Her maydens following bright ; 
Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone, 
And to the Eldridge hills is gone, 

For to wake there all night. 

Unto midnight, that the moone did rise. 

He walked up and downe ; 
Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe 

Over the bents soe browne ; 
Quoth hee, "If cryance come till my heart, 

I am farre from any good towne." 

And soone he spyde on the mores so broad 

A furyous wight and fell ; 
A ladye bright his brydle led, 

Clad in a fayre kyrtell : 

And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline, 

" man, I rede thee flye, 
For but if cryance come till thy heart, 

I weene but thou mun dye." 

Ee say th, '' Ko cryance comes till my heart, 

Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee ; 
For, cause thou minged not Christ before. 

The less me dreadeth thee." 



The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his steed ; 

Syr Cauline bold abode : 
Then either shooke his trustye speare. 
And the timber these two children bare 

Soe soone in sunder slode. 

Then tooke they out theyr two good swordoei, 

And layden on full faste, 
Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheeldc 

They all were well-nighe brast. 

The Eldridge knight was mickle of might. 
And stiflfe in stower. did stande ; 

But Syr Cauline with an aukeward stroke 
He smote off his right-hand ; 

That soone he, with paine, and lacke of bloud. 
Fell downe on that lay-land. 

Then up Syr Cauline lift his brande 

All over his head so hye : 
"And here I sweare by the holy roode, 

ISTowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye." 

Then up and came that ladye brighte, 

Faste wringing of her hande : 
"For the mayden's love, that most you love,_ 

Withold that deadlye brande : 

"For the mayden's love, that most you love, 

Now smyte no more I praye ; 
And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord. 

He shall thy bests obaye." 

" Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte, 

And here on this lay-land. 
That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye. 

And therto plight thy hand : 

"And that thou never on Eldridge hill come 

To sporte, gamon, or playe ; 
And that thou here give up thy armes 

Until thy dying daye." 

The Eldridge knighte gave up his armee. 

With many a sorrowfulle sighe ; 
And sware to obey Syr Cauline's best, 

Till the tyme that he shold dye. 

And he then up, and the Eldridge knighte 

Sett him in his saddle anone ; 
And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye. 

To theyr castle are they gone. 



SIR OAULINE 



201 



rhen he tooke up the bloudy hand, 

That was so large of bone, 
And on it he founde five ringes of gold, 

Of knightes that had be slone. 

Then he tooke np the Eldridge sworde. 

As hard as any flint ; 
And he tooke off those ringes five, 

As bright as fjre and brent. 

Home then pricked Syr Oauline, 

As light as leafe on tree ; 
I-wys he neither stint ne blanne. 

Till he his ladye see. 

Then downe he knelt upon his knee 

Before that lady gay : 
" ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills ; 

These tokens I bring away." 

" l!^ow welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline, 

Thrice welcome unto mee, 
For now I perceive thou art a true knighte. 

Of valour bolde and free." 

•* O ladye, I am thy own true knighte, 

Thy bests for to obaye ; 
And mought I hope to winne thy love ! " — 

No more his tonge colde say. 

The ladye blushed scarlette redde, 

And fette a gentill sighe : 
"Alas! syr knight, how may this bee. 

For my degree 's soe highe ? 

But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth. 
To be my bachelere, 
lie promise, if thee I may not wedde, 
I will have none other fere." 

Then shee held forthe her liley- white hand 

Towards that knighte so free ; 
ITe gave to it one gentill kisse. 
His heart was brought from bale to blisse, 

The teares sterte from his ee. 

* But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline, 

Ne let no man it knowe ; 
F:»r, and ever my father sholde it ken, 

I wot he wolde us sloe," 



From that daye forthe, that ladye fayre 
Lovde Syr Cauline the knighte ; 

From that daye forthe, he only joyde 
Whan shee was in his sight. 

Yea, and oftentimes they mette 

Within a fayre arboure. 
Where they, in love and sweet daliaunce, 

Past manye a pleasaunt houre. 



THE SECOXD PAET. 

EvERYE white will have its blacke, 

And everye sweete its sowre : 
This founde the ladye Christabelle 

In an untimely howre. 

For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline 

Was with that ladye faire, 
The kinge, her father, walked forthe 

To take the evenyng aire : 

And into the arboure as he went 

To rest his wearye feet, 
He found his daughter and Syr Caulint* 

There sette in daliaunce sweet. 

The kinge bee sterted forthe, i-wys, 

And an angrye man was bee : 
"IsTowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawo 

And re we shall thy ladie." 

Then forthe Syr Cauline he was leddo. 
And throwne in dungeon deepe ; 

And the ladye into a towre so bye. 
There left to wayle and waepe. 

The queene she was Syr Cauline's friend. 

And to the kinge sayd shee : 
"I pray you save Syr Cauline's life, 

And let him banish t bee." 

" Now, dame, that traytoure shall bo sent 

Across the salt-sea fome ; 
But here I will make thee a baud, 
If ever he come within this land, 

A foule deathe is his doome." 



202 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



AlII woe-begone was that gentil knight 

To parte from his ladye ; 
And manj a time he sighed sore, 

And cast a wistfulle eje : 
" Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte, 

Farre lever had I dye.'' 

Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright, 

Was had forthe of the towre ; 
But ever shee droopeth in her minde, 
As nipt by an ungentle vi^inde 

Doth some faire liley flowre. 

And ever shee doth lament and weepe, 

To tint her lover soe : 
" Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee, 

But I will still be true." 

Manye a kinge, and manye a duke, 

And lorde of high degree, 
Did sue to that fayre ladye of love ; 

But never shee wolde them nee. 

When manye a daye was past and gone, 

E'e comforte shee colde finde. 
The kynge proclaimed a tourneament. 

To cheere his daughter's mind. 

And there came lords, and there came knights 

Fro manye a farre countrye. 
To break a spere for theyr ladye's love, 

Before that faire ladye. 

And many a ladye there was sette, 

In purple and in palle ; 
But faire Christabelle, soe woe-begone, 

Was the fayrest of them all. 

Then manye a knighte was mickle of might, 

Before his ladye gaye ; 
But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe, 

He wan the prize eche daye. 

His acton it was all of blacke, 

His hewberke and his sheelde ; 
Ke noe man wist whence he did come, 
N'e noe man knewe where he did gone, 

When they came out the feelde. 



And now three days were prestlye ptist 

In feates of chivalry e. 
When lo ! upon the fourth morninge, 

A sorrowfulle sight they see : 

A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke, 

All foule of limbe and lere. 
Two goggling eyen, like fire farden, 

A mouthe from eare to eare. 

Before him came a dwarffe full lowe, 

That waited on his knee ; 
And at his backe five heads he bare, 

All wan and pale of blee. 

"Sir," quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe, 

"Behold that hend soldain ! 
Behold these heads I beare with me ! 

They are kings which he hath slain. 

" The Eldridge knight is his own cousine, 

Whom a knight of thine hath shent ; 
And hee is come to avenge his wrong : 
And to thee, all thy knightes among. 
Defiance here hath sent. 

" But yette he will appease his wrath, 

Thy daughter's love to winne ; 
And, but thou yeelde him that fayre maid, 

Thy halls and towers must brenne. 

" Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee, 

Or else thy daughter dere ; 
Or else within these lists soe broad, 

Thou must finde him a peere." 

The kinge he turned him round aboute, 

And in his heart was woe : 
" Is there never a knighte of my round table 

This matter will undergoe ? 

" Is there never a knighte amongst yee ai) 
Will fight for my daughter and mee ? 

Whoever will fight yon grimme soldan. 
Eight fair his meede shall bee. 

" For hee shall have my broad lay-lands, 

And of my crowne be heyre ; 
And he shall winne fayre Christabelle 

To be his wedded fere." 



SIR CAULINE. 



203 



But every knighte of his round table 

Did stand both still and pale ; 
For, whenever they lookt on the grim soldan, 

It made their hearts to quail. 

AH woe-begone was that fay re ladye, 
When she sawe no helpe was nye : 

Sho cast .her thought on her owne true-love, 
And the teares gusht from her eye. 

dp then sterte the stranger knighte, 

Sayd, "Ladye, be not affrayd; 
He fight for thee with this grimme soldan, 

Thoughe he be unmacklye made. 

"And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge 
sworde, 

That lyeth within thy bowre, 
I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende, 

Thoughe ho be stiff in stowre." 

*• Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde," 
The kinge he cryde, " with speede : 

NTowe, heaven assist thee, courteous knighte ; 
My daughter is thy meede." 

I'he gyaunt he stepped into the lists. 

And sayd, "Awaye, away el 
I sweare, as I am the hend soldan, 

Thou lettest me here all daye." 

Then forthe the stranger knight he came, 

In his blacke armoure dight ; 
The ladye sighed a gentle sighe, 

" That this were my true knighte ! " 

And nowe the gyaunt and knight be mett 

Within the lists soe broad ; 
And now, with swordes soe sharpe of Steele, 

They gan to lay on load. 

The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke 

That made him reele asyde ; 
Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye. 

And thrice she deeply sighde. 

The soldan strucke a second stroke, 
And made the bloude to flowe ; 

\11 pale and wan was tliat ladye fayre. 
And thrice she wept for woe. 



The soldan strucke a third fell stroke. 
Which brought the knighte on his knee ; 

Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart, 
And she shriekt loud shriekings three. 

The knighte he leapt upon his feete. 

All recklesse of the pain ; 
Quoth hee, " But heaven be now my speede, 

Or else I shall be slaine." 

He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte, 

And spying a secrette part. 
He drave it into the soldan 's syde. 

And pierced him to the heart. 

Then all the people gave a shoute, 
Whan they sawe the soldan falle ; 

The ladye wept, and thanked Christ 
That had reskewed her from thrall. 

And nowe the kinge, with all his barons, 

Eose uppe from offe his seate. 
And downe he stepped into the listes 

That curteous knighte to greete. 

But he, for payne and lacke of bloude. 

Was fallen into a swounde. 
And there, all walteringe in his gore, 

Lay lifelesse on the grounde. 

"Come downe, come downe, my danghtei 
deare. 

Thou art a leeche of skille ; 
Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes 

Than this good knighte sholde spille." 

Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye, 

To helpe him if she maye ; 
But when she did his beavere raise, 
" It is my life, my lord ! " she sayes, 

And shriekte and swound awaye. 

Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes, 

When he heard his ladye crye : 
" ladye, I am thine owne true love ; 

For thee I wisht to dye." 

Then giving her one partinge looke. 

He closed his eyes in death, 
Ere Christabelle, tliat ladye milde, 

Begane to drawe her breathe. 



204 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



But wlien she found lier comelye knighte 

Indeed was dead and gone, 
She layde her pale, cold cheeke to his, 

And thus she made her raoane r 

'* Oh stave, my deare and onlye lord, 

For mee, thy faithfuUe fere ; 
T is meet that I shold followe thee. 

Who hast bought my love so deare." 

riien fayntinge in a deadlye swoune, 1 

And with a deep-fette sighe 

Chat burst her gentle heart in twayne, I 

Fayre Christabelle did dye. , 

AjfONTMOUS. ' 



THE XUT-BROWIsr MAID. 

Be it right, or wrong, these men among 

On women do complain ; 
Affirming this, how that it is 

A labour spent in vain 
To love them wele ; for never a dele 

They love a man again : 
For let a man do what he can, 

Their favour to attain. 
Yet, if a new do them pursue. 

Their first true lover then 
Laboureth for nought, for from her thought 

He is a banished man. 

I say not nay, but that all day 

It is both writ and said 
That woman's faith is, as who saith. 

All utterly decayed ; 
But, nevertheless, right good witness 

In this case might be laid, 
That they love true, and continiie. 

Record the nut-brown maid : 
Which, when her love came, her to prove, 

To her to make his moan, 
Would not depart ; for in her heart 

She loved but him alone. 

Then between us let us discuss 

What was all the manere 
Between them too : we will also 

Tell all the pain and fere 



That she was in, Isow I begin. 

So that ye me answere ; 
Wherefore, all ye that present be, 

I pray you, gi /e an ear. 
I am the knight ; I come by night, 

As secret as I can ; 
Saying, "Alas! thus standetli * he case. 

I am a banished man.'' 

oHE, 

And I your will for to fulfil 

In this will not refuse ; 
Trusting to shew, in wordes few, 

That men have an ill use 
(To their own shame) women to blame, 

And causeless them accuse : 
Therefol'e to you I answer now, 

All women to excuse — 
Mine own heart dear, with you what chere? 

I pray you, tell anone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

It standeth so ; a dede is do 

Whereof great harm shall grow : 
My destiny is for to die 

A shameful death, I trowe ; 
Or else to flee ; the one must be. 

N"one other way I know. 
But to withdraw as an outlaw, 

And take me to my bow. 
Wherefore, adieu, my own heart true ! 

'None other rede I can ; 
For I must to the green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

Lord, what is this worldys bliss. 
That cliangeth as the moon ! 

My summer's day in lusty May 
Is darked before the noon. 

1 hear you say farewell : nay, nay, 

We depart not so soon. 
Why say ye so ? Wheder will ye go ? 

Alas ! what have ye done ? 
All my welfare to sorrow and care 

Should change, if ye were gone , 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



THE NUT-BROWN MAID. 



20fi 



HE. 

I can believe, it shall you grieve, 

And somewhat you distrain ; 
But afterward your paines hard 

Within a day or twain 
Shall soon aslake ; and ye shall take 

Comfort to you again. 
Why should ye ought? for to make thought. 

Your labour were in vain. 
And thus I do ; and pray you too. 

As heartily as I can ; 
For I must to the green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 



]^ow, sith that ye have shewed to me 

The secret of your mind, 
I shall be plain to you again. 

Like as ye shall me find. 
Sith it is so, that ye will go, 

I wolle not leave behind ; 
Shall never be said, the nut-brown maid 

Was to her love unkind : 
Make you ready, for so am I, 

Although it were anone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

T love but you alone. 

HE. 

Yet I you rede to take good heed 

What men will think and say : 
Of young and old it shall be told, 

That ye be gone away. 
Your wanton will for to fulfil. 

In green wood you to play ; 
And that ye might from your delight 

'No longer make delay. 
Rather than ye should thus for me 

Be called an ill woman. 
Yet would I to the green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

Though it be sung of old and young 

That I should be to blame. 
Theirs be the charge, that speak so largo 

In hurting of my name ; 
For I will prove that faithful love 

It is devoid of shame ; 
In your distress and heaviness 

To part with you, the same ; 



And sure all tho that do not so. 

True lovers are they none ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

H-E. 
I counsel you, remember how 

It is no maiden's law, 
JSTothing to doubt, but to renne out 

To wood with an outlaw : 
For ye must there in your hand bear 

A bow, ready to draw ; 
And, as a thief, thus must you live, 

Ever in dread and awe ; 
Whereby to you great harm might grow * 

Yet had I lever than. 
That I had to the green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

I think not nay, but as ye say. 

It is no maiden's lore ; 
But love may make me for your sake, 

As I have said before. 
To come on foot, to hunt, and shoot 

To get us meat in store ; 
For so that I your company 

May have, I ask no more : 
From which to part, it maketh my hem t 

As cold as any stone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



For an outlaw this is the law. 

That men him take and bind ; 
Without pity hanged to be. 

And waver with the wind. 
If I had nede, (as God forbede !; 

What rescue could ye find ? 
Forsooth, I trow, ye and your bow 

For fear would draw behind ; 
And no mervayle : for little avail 

Were in your counsel then ; 
Wherefore I will to the green wood go. 

Alone, a banished man. 



Kight well know ye that women bo 

But feeble for to fight ; 
No womanhede it is indeed 

To be bold as a knight ; 



206 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Yet in such fear if that ye were 

With enemies day or night, 
[ would withstand, with how in hand, 

To greve them as I might. 
And you to save ; as women have 

From death men many a one ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love hut you alone. 

HE. 

Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede 

That ye could not sustain 
The thorny ways, the deep valleys, 

The snow, the frost, the rain, 
The cold, the heat : for, dry or wet. 

We must lodge on the plain ; 
And, us above, none other roof 

But a brake hush, or twain ; 
Which soon should grieve you, I believe ; 

And ye would gladly then 
Chat I had to the green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 



Sith I have here heen partynere 

With you of joy and bliss, 
I must also part of your woe 

Endure, as reason is ; 
Yet am I sure of one pleasiire ; 

And, shortly, it is this : 
That, where ye be, me «eemeth, parde, 

I could not fare amiss. 
Without more speech, I you beseech 

That we were soon agone ; 
For, in m}' mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

If ye go thyder, ye must consider. 

When ye have lust to dine, 
There shall no meat he for you gete, 

Kor drink, beer, ale, nor wine. 
No shetes clean, to lie between. 

Made of thread and twine ; 
None otlier house but leaves and boughs. 

To cover your head and mine ; 
mine heart sweet, this evil diete 

Should make you pale and wan ; 
Wherefore I will to the green wood go. 

Alone, a banislied man. 



Among the wild dere, such an archere 

As men say that ye be, 
Ne may not fail of good vitayle, 

Where is so great plenty : 
And water clear of the ry vere 

Shall be full sweet to me ; 
With which in hele I shall right wele 

Endure, as ye shall see ; 
And, or we go, a bed or two 

I can provide anone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

Lo ! yet^ before, ye must do more, 

If ye will go with me: 
As cut your hair up by your ear, 

Your kirtle by the knee ; 
With bow in hand for to withstand 

Your enemies, if need be ; 
And this same night before day-light, 

To wood-ward will I flee. 
If that ye will all this fulfil, 

Do it shortly as ye can ; 
Else wiU I to the green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

I shall as now do more for you 

Than 'longeth to womanhede ; 
To shorte my hair, a bow to bear, 

To shoot in time of need. 
my sweet mother, before all other 

For you I have most drede ; 
But now, adieu ! I must ensue. 

Where fortune doth me lead. 
All this make ye : now let us flee ; 

The day cometh fast upon ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

Nay, nay, not so ; ye shall not go 

And I shall tell ye why, 

Yonr appetite is to be light 

Of love, I wele aspy : 
For, like as ye have said to me, 

In like wise hardely 
Ye would answere whosoeve? it were 

In way of company. 



THE NUT-BROWN MAID. 



201 



It is said of old, Soon hot, soon cold ; 

And so is a woman ; 
Wherefore I to the wood will go 

Alone, a banished man. 



If ye take heed, it is no need 

Such words to say by me ; 
For oft ye prayed, and long assayed, 

Or I you loved, parde ; 
And though that I of ancestry 

A baron's daughter be. 
Yet have you proved how I you loved 

A squire of low degree ; 
And ever shall, whatso befall ; 

To die therefore anone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

A baron's child to be beguiled ! 

It were a cursed dede ; 
To be felawe with an outlawe ! 

Almighty God forbede ! 
Yet better were, the poor squy^re 

Alone to forest yede, 
Than ye should say another day, 

That, by my cursed dede. 
Ye were betrayed ; wherefore, good maid, 

The best rede that I can. 
Is, that I to the green wood go, 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

Whatever befall, I never shall 

Of this thing you upbraid ; 
But if ye go, and leave me so, 

Then have ye me betrayed. 
Remember you wele, how that ye dele ; 

For if ye, as ye said. 
Be so unkind, to leave behind. 

Your love, the nut-brown maid, 
Trust me truly, that I shall die 

Soon after ye be gone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 

HE. 

If that ye went, ye should repent ; 

For in the forest now 
I have purvayed me of a maid, 

Whom I love more than you ; 



Another, fayrere than ever ye were, 

I dare it wele avow ; 
And of you both each should be wroth 

With other, as I trow : 
It were mine ease to live in peace ; 

So will I, if I can ; 
Wherefore I to the wood will go. 

Alone, a banished man. 

SHE. 

Though in the wood I understood 

Ye had a paramour. 
All this may nought remove my thought 

But that I will be your : 
And she shall finde me soft and- kind, 

And courteys every hour ; 
Glad to fulfil all that she will 

Command me to my power : 
For had ye, lo ! an hundred mo. 

Of them I would be one ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



Mine own dear love, I see the proul 

That ye be kind and true ; 
Of maid, and wife, in all my life, 

The best that ever I knew. 
Be merry and glad, be no more sad. 

The case is changed new ; 
For it were ruth, that, for your truth, 

Ye should have cause to rue. 
Be not dismayed, whatsoever I said 

To you, when I began ; 
I will not to the green wood go, 

I am no banished man. 

SHE. 

These tidings be more glad to mc. 

Than to be made a queen. 
If I were sure they should endure : 

But it is often seen. 
When men will break promise, they speaV 

The wordes on the splene. 
Ye shape some wile mo to beguile, 

And steal from me, I ween , 
Then were the case worse than it wop. 

And I more wo-begone ; 
For, in my mind, of all mankind 

I love but you alone. 



208 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



HE. 

Ye shall not nede further to drede ; 

I will not disparage 
You, (God defend !) sitli ye descend 

Of so great a lineage. 
!N'ow understand ; to Westmoreland, 

Which is mine heritage, 
I will you bring ; and with a ring. 

By way of marriage 
I will you take, and lady make. 

As shortly as I can : 
Thus have you won an erly's son, 

And not 3. banished man. 

AUTHOE. 

Here may ye see, that women be 

In love, meek, kind, and stable ; 
Let never man reprove them then. 

Or call them variable ; 
But rather pray God that we may 

To them be comfortable ; 
Which sometime proveth such, as he loveth. 

If they be charitable. 
For sith men would that women should 

Be meek to them each one; 

Much more ought they to God obey, 

A.nd serve but him alone. 

Anonymous. 



YOUNG BEI0HA:N' and SUSIE PYE. 

In London was young Beichan born. 
He longed strange countries for to see ; 

But he was taen by a savage Moor, 
Who handled him right cruellie ; 

For he viewed the fashions of that land : 
Their way of worship viewed he ; 

But to Mahound, or Termagant, 
Would Beichan never bend a knee. 

So in every shoulder they Ve putten a bore ; 

In every bore they Ve putten a tree ; 
And they have made him trail the wine 

And spices on his fair bodie. 

They 've casten him in a dungeon deep, 
Where he could neither hear nor see ; 

For seven years they kept him there, 
Till he for hunojer 's like to die. 



This Moor he had but ae daughter, 
Her name was called Susie Pye ; 

And every day as she took the air, 
Near Beichan's prison she passed by. 

Oh so it fell, upon a day 

She heard young Beichan sadly sing ; 
"My hounds they all go masterless ; 

My hawks they flee from tree to tree ; 
My younger brother will heir my land ; 

Fair England again I '11 never see ! " 

All night long no rest she got, 

Young Beichan's song for thinking on ; 

She's stown the keys from her father's head, 
And to the prison strong is gone. 

And she has opened the prison doors, 

I wot she opened two or three, 
Ere she could come young Beichan at, 

He was locked up so curiouslie. 

But when she came young Beichan before, 
Sore wondered he that may to see ; 

He took her for some fair captive ; — 
"Fair Lady, I pray, of what countric?" 

" Oh have ye any lands," she said, 
" Or castles in your own countrie, 

That ye could give to a lady fair, 

From prison strong to set you free ? " 

"Near London town I have a hall, 
With other castles two or three ; 

I' 11 give them all to the lady fair 
That out of prison will set me free." 

" Give me the truth of your right hand. 

The truth of it give unto me, 
That for seven years ye '11 no lady wed, 

Unless it be along with me." 

" I '11 give thee the truth of my right hand, 

The truth of it I'll freely gie, 
That for seven years I '11 stay unwed, 

For the kindness thou dost show to me.'' 

And she has bribed the proud warder 
Wi' mickle gold and white monie ; 

She 's gotten the keys of the prison strong. 
And she has set young Beichan free. 



YOUNG BEICHAN AND SUSIE PYE. 



20i; 



She 's gi^en him to eat the good spice-cake, 
She 's gi'en him to drink the blood-red wine ; 

She 's bidden him sometimes think on her 
That sae kindly freed him out of pine. 

She 's broken a ring from her finger, 
And to Beichan half of it gave she : 

" Keep it, to mind you of that love 
The lady borr that set you free. 

" And set your foot on good ship-board. 
And haste ye back to your own countrie ; 

And before that seven years have an end, 
Come back again, love, and marry me." 

But long ere seven years had an end, 
She longed full sore her love to see ; 

For ever a voice within her breast 

Said, " Beichan has broke his vow to thee." 

So she 's set her foot on good ship-board, 
And turned her back on her own countrie. 

She sailed east, she sailed west. 

Till to fair England^s shore she came ; 

Where a bonny shepherd she espied, 
Feeding his sheep upon the plain. 

" What news, what news, thou bonny shep- 
herd? 

What news has thou to tell to me ? " 
'*Such news I hear, ladie," he says, 

"The like was never in this countrie. 

" There is a wedding in yonder hall. 
Has lasted these thirty days and three ; 

Young Beichan will not bed with his bride. 
For love of one that 's yond the sea." 

She 's put her hand in her pocket, 
Gi'en him the gold and white monie ; 

" Here, take ye that, my bonny boy. 
For the good news thou telPst to me." 

When she came to young Beichan's gate. 

She tirled softly at the pin ; 
"^0 ready was the proud porter 

To open and let this lady in. 

* Is this young Beichan's hall," she said, 
" Or is that noble lord within ? " 
Yea, he 's in the hall among them all. 
And this is the day o' his weddin." 
31 



" And has he wed anither love ? 

And has he clean forgotten me ? " 
And, sighin', said that gay ladie, 

"I wish I were in my own countrie." 

And she has taen her gay gold ring. 
That with her love she brake so free ; 

Says, " Gie him that, ye proud porter. 
And bid the bridegroom speak to me." 

When the porter came his lord before, 
He kneeled down low on his knee — 

" What aileth thee, my proud porter. 
Thou art so full of courtesie ? " 

'' I Ve been porter at your gates. 
It 's thirty long years now and three ; 

But there stands a lady at them now. 
The like o' her did I never see ; 

"For on every finger she has a ring. 
And on her mid finger she has three ; 

And as meickle gold aboon her brow 
As would buy an earldom to me." 

Its out then spak the bride's mother. 
Aye and an angry woman was shee ; 

"Ye might have excepted our bonny brida. 
And twa or three of our companie." 

" Oh hold your tongue, thou bride's mother 

Of all your folly let me be ; 
She 's ten times fairer nor the bride. 

And all that 's in your companie. 

" She begs one sheave of your white bread, 
But and a cup of your red wine ; 

And to remember the lady's love, 
That last relieved you out of pine." 

"Oh well-a-day ! " said Beichan then, 
"That I so soon have married thee ! 

For it can be none but Susie Pye, 
That sailed the sea for love of mo." 

And quickly hied he down the stair ; 

Of fifteen steps he made but three ; 
He's ta'en his bonny love in his arms, 

And kist, and kist her tenderlie. 



>A0 



POEMS OF LOTE. 



■' Oh hae je ta'en anither bride ? 

And hae ye quite forgotten me ? 
And hae ye quite forgotten her, 

That gave you life and libertie ? " 

She k)oked o'er her left shoulder, 
To hide the tears stood in her e'e : 

••N"ow fare thee well, young Beichan," she 
says, 
"I'll try to think no more on thee." 

'^ never, never, Susie Pye, 

For surely this can never be ; 
N"or ever shall I wed but her 

That's done and dree'd so much for me." 

Then out and spak the forenoon bride — 
" My lord, your love it changeth soon ; 

This morning I was made your bride. 
And another chose ere it be noon." 

" Oh hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride ; 

Ye 're ne'er a whit the worse for me ; 
And whan ye return to your own countrie, 

A double dower I'll send with thee." 

He's taen Snsie Pye by the w^hite hand, 
And gently led her up and down ; 

And ay, as he kist her red rosy lips, 
•'Ye 're welcome, jcAvel, to your own." 

Ee 's taen her by the milk-white hand. 
And led her to yon fountain stane ; 

He 's changed her name from Susie Pye, 
And he 's called her his bonny love. Lady 
Jane. 

AN0NYM0U8. 



" When will you be back, Lord Lovel? " saiil 
she; 

" ! when will you come back? " said she. 
" In a year or two — or three, at the most, 

I '11 return to my fair ISTancy-cy, 

I '11 return to my fair Nancy." 

But he had not been gone a year and a da> , 
Strange countries for to see. 

When languishing thoughts came into his 
head, 
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see, see. 
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see. 



So he rode, and he rode on his milk-white 
steed, 
Till he came to London town, 

And there he heard St. Pancras' bells. 
And the people all mourning, round, round, 
And the people all mourning round. 



■i 



"Oh, what is the matter," Lord Lovel he said. 
^ " Oh ! what is the matter ? " said he ; 

"A lord's lady is dead," a woman replied 
"And some call her Lady Nancy -cy. 
And some call her Lady Nancy." 



LORD LOVEL. 

I.OED Lovel he stood at his castle gate, 

Combing his milk-white steed ; 
When up came Lady Nancy Belle, 

To wish her lover good speed, speed. 

To wish her lover good speed. 

•• Where are you going, Lord Lovel ? " she 
said, 

" Oh ! where are you going ? " said she ; 
' I 'm going my Lady Nancy Belle, 

Strange countries for to see, to see, 

Strange countries for to see." 



So he ordered the grave to be opened wide, 
And the shroud he turned down. 

And there he kissed her clay-cold lips. 
Till the tears came trickling down, down, 
Till the tears came trickling down. 

Lady Nancy she died as it might be to-day, 
Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow ; 

Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grie£ 
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow, sorrow, 
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow. 

Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras' church, 
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir ; 

And out of her bosom there grew a red rose, 
And out of her lover's a brier, brier, 
And out of her lover's a brier. 

They grew^, and they grew, to the churci 
steeple top. 

And then they could grow no higher : 
So there they entw^ined in a true-lover'y inot 

For all lovers true to adm ire-mire. 

For all lovers true to admire. 

ANONYlLKiUa. 



i 



ROBIK HOOD AND ALLEN-A-D ALE. 



21i 



UOBm HOOD AND ALLEIST-A-DALE. 

Come listen to me, you gallants so free, 
All you that love mirtli for to hear, 

And I will tell you of a bold outlaw, 
That lived in ^Nottinghamshire. 

As Robin Hood in the forest stood, 
All under the greenwood tree, 

There he was aware of a brave young man, 
As fine as fine might be. 

The youngster was clad in scarlet red, 

In scarlet fine and gay ; 
And he did frisk it over the plain, 

And chaunted a roundelay. 

As Robin Hood next morning stood 

Amongst the leaves so gay. 
There did he espy the same young man 

Come drooping along the way. 

The scarlet he wore the day before 

It was clean cast away ; 
And at every step he fetched a sigh, 

''Alas ! and a well-a-day ! " 

Then stepped forth brave Little John, 

And Midge, the miller's son ; 
Which made the young man bend his bow. 

When as he see them come. 

"Stand off! stand off! " the young man said, 
" What is your will with me ? " 

" You must come before our master straight. 
Under yon greenwood tree." 

A.nd when he came bold Robin before, 
Robin asked him courteously, 

" O, hast thou any money to spare. 
For my merry men and me ? " 

•*I have no money,'' the young man said, 
"But five shillings and a ring; 

^nd that I have kept this seven long years, 
To have at my wedding. 



" Yesterday I should have married a maid, 

But she was from me ta'en, 
And chosen to be an old knight's delight, 

Whereby my poor heart is slain." 

" What is thy name ? '' then said Robin Hood, 
" Come tell me, without any fail." 

"By the faith of my body," then said the 
young man, 
"My name it is Allen-a-Dale." 

"What wilt thou give me," said Robin Hood, 

" In ready gold or fee, 
To help thee to thy true love again, 

And deliver her unto thee? " 

"I have no money," then quoth the young 
man, 

No ready gold nor fee. 
But I will swear upon a book 

Thy true servant for to be." 

"How many miles is it to thy true love? 

Come tell me without guile." 
"By the faith of my body," then said tlir' 
young man, 

"It is but five little mile." 

Then Robin he hasted over the plain; 

He did neither stint nor lin. 
Until he came unto the church 

Where Allen should keep his weddin'. 

"What hast thou here? " the bisliop then said; 

" I prithee now tell unto me." 
" I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood, 

"And the best in the north country." 

" Oh welcome, oh welcome," the bishop he 
said ; 

" That music best pleasetli me." 
"You shall have no music," quoth Robin Hood, 

" Till the bride and bridegroom I see." 

With that came in a wealthy knight, 
Which was both grave and old ; 

And after him a finikin lass, 

Did shine like the glistering gold. 



212 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



'' This is not a fit match," quoth Robin Hood, 
" That you do seem to make here ; 

For since we are come into the church. 
The bride shall chuse her own dear." 

Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth, 
And blew blasts two or three ; 

When four-and-twenty yeomen bold 
Came leaping over the lea. 

And when they came into the church-yard. 

Marching all in a row, 
The first man was Allen-a-Dale, 

To give bold Robin his bow. 

*' This is thy true love," Robin he said, 
*' Young Allen, as I hear say ; 

And you shall be married this same time, 
Before we depart away." 

" That shall not be," the bishop he cried, 
" For thy word shall not stand ; 

They shall be three times asked in the church, 
As the law is of our land." 

Robin Hood pulled off the bishop's coat, 

And put it upon Little John ; 
" By the faith of my body," then Robin said, 

" This cloth doth make thee a man." 

When Little John went into the quire, 

The people began to laugh ; 
He asked them seven times into church. 

Lest three times should not be enough. 

"Who gives me this maid? " said Little John, 
Quoth Robin Hood, " That do I ; 

And he that takes her from Allen-a-Dale, 
Full dearly he shall her buy.' 

And then liaving ended this merry wedding, 
The bride looked like a queen ; 

And so they returned to the merry green 
wood, 
Amongst the leaves so green. 

ANONTMOrS. 



TRUTH'S INTEGRITY. 

riEST PART. 

Over the mountains 

And under the waves. 
Over the fountains 

And under the graves. 
Under floods which are deepest, 

Which do iTeptune obey. 
Over rocks which are steepest, 

Love will find out the way. 

Where there is no place 

For the glow-worm to lie, 
Where there is no place 

For receipt of a fly, 
Where the gnat dares not veniuro, 

Lest herself fast she lay. 
But if Love come he will enter. 

And find out the way. 

You may esteem him 

A child of his force, 
Or you may deem him 

A coward, which is worse , 
But if he whom Love doth honor 

Be concealed from the day. 
Set a thousand guards upon him— 

Love will find out the way 

Some think to lose him, 

Which is too unkind ; 
And some do suppose him. 

Poor heart, to be blind ; 
But if he were hidden, 

Do the best you may, 
Blind Love, if you so call him, 

Will find out the way. 

Well may the eagle 

Stoop down to the fist. 
Or you may inveigle 

The phoenix of the east ; 
With fear the tiger 's moved 

To give over their prey ; 
But never stop a lover — 

He will find out the wav. 



THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 



2i& 



From Dover to Berwick, 

And nations thereabout, 
Brave Guy, earl of Warwick, 

That champion so stout, 
With his warlike behavior. 

Through the world he did stray, 
To win his Phillis's favor — 

Love will find out the way. 

In order next enters 

Bevis so brave. 
After adventures 

And policy brave, 
To see whom he desired. 

His Josian so gay. 
For whom his heart was fired — 

Love will find out the way. 



SECOND PART, 

The Gordian knot 

Which true lovers knit. 
Undo it you cannot, 

Nor yet break it ; 
Make use of your inventions. 

Their fancies to betray, 
To frustrate their intentions — 

Love will find out the way. 

From court to the cottage. 

In bower and in hall. 
From the king unto the beggar, 

Love conquers all. 
Though ne'er so stout and lordly, 

Strive or do what you may. 
Yet be you ne'er so hardy. 

Love will find out the way. 

Love hath power over princes, 

And greatest emperors ; 
In any provinces, 

Such is Love's power 
There is no resisting. 

But him to obey ; 
In spite of all contesting. 

Love will find out the way. 

If that he were hidden. 

And all men that are 
Were strictly forbidden 

That place to declare, 



Winds that have no abidings. 

Pitying their delay. 
Would come and bring him tidings, 

And direct him the way. 

If the earth should part him. 

He would gallop it o'er ; 
If the seas should o'erthwart him. 

He would swim to the shore. 
Should his love become a swallow, 

Through the air to stray. 
Love will lend wings to follow, 

And will find out the way. 

There is no striving 

To cross his intent, 
There is no contriving 

His plots to prevent ; 
But if once the message greet him, 

That his true love doth stay, 
If death should come and meet him, 

Love will find out the way. 

ANONTMOUe. 



THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 

It was a friar of orders gray 
Walked forth to tell his beads ; 

And he met with a lady fair 
Clad in a pilgrim's weeds. 

" ISTow Christ thee save, thou reverend friar ; 

I pray thee tell to me. 
If ever at yon holy shrine 

My true-love thou didst see." 

" And how should I know your true-love 

From many another one ? " 
"0, by his cockle hat, and stafi:'^ 

And by his sandal shoon. 

" But chiefly by his face and mien, 

That were so fair to view ; 
His flaxen locks that sweetly curled, 

And eyes of lovely blue." 

" lady, he 's dead and gone ! 

Lady, he 's dead and gone I 
And at his head a green grass turf, 

And at his heels a stone. 



lU 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



''Within these holy cloisters long 

He languished, ana he diea, 
Lamenting of a lady's love, 

And 'plaining of her pride. 

"Here bore him barefaced on his bier 

Six proper youths and tall, 
And many a tear bedewed his grave 

Within yon kirk-yard wall." 

" And art thou dead, thou gentle youth ? 

And art thou dead and gone ? 
And didst thou die for love of me ? 

Break, cruel heart of stone ! " 

" Oh weep not, lady, weep not so ; 

Some ghostly comfort seek : 
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, 

I^or tears bedew thy cheek." 

'* Oh do not, do not, holy friar, 

My sorrow now reprove ; 
For I have lost the sweetest yblith 

That e'er won lady's love. 

*' And now, alas ! for thy sad loss 
I '11 evermore weep and sigh : 

For thee I only wished to live. 
For thee I wish to die." 

" Weep no more, lady, w^eep no more, 

Thy sorrow is in vain ; 
For violets plucked, the sweetest shower:5 

Will ne'er make grow again. 

" Our joys as winged dreams do fly ; 

Why then should sorrow last ? 
Since grief but aggravates thy loss, 

Grieve not for what is past." 

" Oh say not so, thou holy friar ; 

I pray thee, say not so ; 
For since my true-love died for me, 

'T is meet my tears should flow. 

' And will he never come again ? 

Will he ne'er come again ? 
Ah ! no, he is dead and laid in his grave : 

For ever to remain. 



" His cheek was redder than the rose ; 

The comeliest youth was he ! 
But he is dead and laid in his grave : 

Alas, and woe is me ! " 

" Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, 

Men were deceivers ever : 
One foot on sea and one on land. 

To one thing constant never. 

•' Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, 

And left thee sad and heavy ; 
For young men ever were fickle found. 

Since summer trees were leafy." 

"Xow say not so, thou holy friar, 

I pray thee say not so ; 
My love he had the truest heart- 

Oh he was ever true ! 

" And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth^ 

And didst thou die for me ? 
Then farewell home ; for evernaore 

A pilgrim I will be. 

" But first upon my true-love's grave 

My weary limbs I '11 lay. 
And thrice 1 11 kiss the green-grass tarf 

That wraps his breathless clay." 

"Yet stay, fair lady : rest awhile 

Beneath this cloister wall ; 
See through the hawthorn blows the cold 
wind, 

And drizzly rain doth fall." 

" Oh stay me not, thou holy friar, 

Oh stay me not, I pray ; 
1^0 drizzly rain that falls on me, 

Can wash my fault away." 

"Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, 

And dry those pearly tears ; 
For see beneath this gown of gray 

Thy own true-love appears. 

"Here forced by grief and hopeless lovtx 

These holy weeds I sought ; 
And here, amid these lonely walls, 

To end m.y days I thought. 



THE SPANISH LADY'S LOYE. 



2U 



" But liaply, for my year of grace 

Is not yet passed away, 
Might I still hope to win thy love, 

IN'o longer would I stay.*' 

*Kow farewell grief, and welcome joy 

Once more unto my heart ; 
For since I have found thee, lovely youth, 

"We never more will part." 

Thomas Percy 



THE SPAOTSH LADY'S LOVE. 

Will you hear a Spanish lad^, 

How she wooed an English man : 
Garments gay, as rich as may be. 
Decked with jewels,had she on. 
Of a comely countenance and grace was 

she, 
A lid by birth and parentage of high degree. 

As his prisoner there he kept her 

In his hands her life did lye ; 
Cupid's bands did tye her faster 
By the liking of an eye. 
In his courteous company was all her joy, 
To favour him in any thing she was not 
coy. 

At the last there came commandment 

For to set the ladies free, 
With their jewels still adorned, 
None to do them injury. 
*' Alas ! " then said this lady gay, " full woe is 

me; 
Oh let me still sustain this kind captivity ! 

"0 gallant captain, shew some pity 

To a ladye in distresse ; 
Leave me not within this city, 
For to dye in heavinesse. 
Fhcu hast set this present day my body 

free, 
But my heart in prison strong remains with 
thee." 



"How should 'st thou, fair lady, love me, 
Whom thou know'st thy country's foe? 
Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee : 
Serpents are where flowers grow.'' 
" All the evil I think to thee, most gracious 

knight, 
God grant unto myself the same may fulh 
light. 

"Blessed be the time and season. 

That you came on Spanish ground ; 
If you may our foes be termed. 
Gentle foes we have you found : 
With our city, you have won our hearts each 

one ; 
Then to your country bear aw^ay that is youi 
own." 

"Rest you still, most gallant lady; 

Rest you still, and w^eep no more ; 
Of fair lovers there are plenty, 

Spain doth yield a wondrous store." 
"Spaniards fraught with jealousy w^e often 

find. 
But Englishmen throughout the world are 
counted kind. 

"Leave me not unto a Spaniard, 

You alone enjoy my heart; 
I am lovely, young, and tender. 
And so love is my desert. 
Still to serve thee day and night my mind ie 

prest; 
The wife of every Englishman is counted 
blest." 

" It would be a shame, fair lady, 

For to bear a woman hence ; 
English soldiers never carry 
Any such without oflenco." 
"I will quickly cliange myself, if it be so. 
And like a page I'll folh)w thee, where'er 
thou go." 

"I have neither gold nor silver 
To maintain thee in this case, 
And to travel, 'tis great charges, 
As you know, in every place." 
"^[y chains and jewels everyone shall be 

thine own. 
And eke ten thousand ])<»iin(U i?i gold tliai 
lies unknown." 



•ilG 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



'' On the seas are many dangers ; 

Many storms do there arise, 
Which will he to ladies dreadful, 
And force tears from watVy eyes.'' 
•' Well in worth I could endure extremity, 
For I could find in heart to lose my life for 
thee." 

''Courteous lady, he contented; 

Here comes all that breeds the strife ; 
I in England have already 
A sweet woman to my wife : 
I will not falsifie my vow for gold or gain, 
Xor yet for all the fairest dames that live in 
Spain." 

" Oh how happy is that woman 
That enjoys so true a friend! 
Many days of joy God send you! 
Of my suit I '11 make an end : 
On my knees I pardon crave for this offence. 
Which love and true affection did first com- 
mence. 

*' Commend me to thy loving lady ; 

Bear to her this chain of gold. 
And these bracelets for a token ; 
Grieving that I was so bold. 
All my jewels in like sort bear thou with thee, 
For these are fitting for thy wife, and not for 
me. 

** I will spend my days in prayer, 

Love and all her laws defie ; 
In a nunnery Avill I shroud me. 
Far from other company : 
But ere my prayers have end, be sure of this, 
Yo pray for thee and for thy love I will not 
miss. 

*' Thus farewell, most gentle captain. 
And farewell my heart's content ! 
CouDt not Spanish ladies wanton, 
Though to thee my love was bent : 
loy and true prosperity goe still with thee ! " 
*Tlie like fall ever to thy thare, most fair 
lady." 

Anonymous. 



THE HEEMIT. 

'' TuEN, gentle hermit of the dale, 

And guide my lonely way 
To where yon taper cheers the vale 

With hospitable ray. 

•'For here forlorn and lost I tread. 
With fainting steps and slow ; 

Where Avilds, immeasurably spread. 
Seem lengthening as I go." 

"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, 
" To tempt the dangerous gloom ; 

For yonder faithless phantom flies 
To lure thee to thy doom. 

" Here to the houseless child of want 

My door is open still ; 
And though my portion is but scant, 

I give it with good will. 

" Then turn to-night, and freely share 

Whate'er my cell bestows ; 
My rushy couch and frugal fare, 

My blessing and repose. 

"ISTo flocks that range the valley free 

To slaughter I condemn ; 
Taught by that power that pities me, 

I learn to pity them; 

" But from the mountain's grassy side 

A guiltless feast I bring ; 
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, 

And water from the spring. 

" Then, pilgrim, turn; thy cares forego ; 

All earth-born cares are wrong : 
Man wants but little here below, 

Nur wants that little long." 

Soft as the dew from heaven descends, 

His gentle accents fell ; 
The modest stranger lowly bends, 

And follows to the cell. 

Far in a wilderneSo obscure 

The lonely mansion lay ; 
A refuge to the neighboring poor. 

And strangers led astray. 



THE HERMIT. 



211 



"No stores beneath its humble thatch 

Required a master's care : 
The wicket, opening with a latch, 

Received the harmless pair. 

And now, when busy croAvds retire 

To take their evening rest, 
The hermit trimmed his little fire, 

And cheered his pensive guest ; 

And sjjread his vegetable store, 

And gajlj prest and smiled ; 
And, skilled in legendary lore. 

The lingering hours beguiled. 

Around, in sympathetic mirth, 

Its tricks the kitten tries ; 
The cricket chirrups on the hearth ; 

The crackling fagot flies. 

But nothing could a charm impart 
To soothe the stranger's woe : 

For grief was heavy at his heart. 
And tears began to flow. 

flis rising cares the hermit spied. 
With answering care opprest : 

"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, 
" The sorrows of thy breast ? 

•' From better habitations spurned. 

Reluctant dost thou rove ? 
Or grieve for friendship unreturned, 

Or unregarded love ? 

" Alas ! the joys that fortune brings 

Are trifling, and decay ; 
And those who prize the paltry things. 

More trifling still than they. 

" And what is friendship but a name, 

A charm that lulls to sleep ; 
A shade that follows wealth or fame, 

And leaves the wretch to weep ? 

* And love is still an emptier sound. 

The modern ftiir one's jest; 
On earth unseen, or only found 

To warm the turtle's nest. 



" For shame, fond youth ! thy sorrows hush, 

And spurn the sex," he said ; 
But, while he spoke, a rising blusli 

His lovelorn guest betrayed. 

Surprised, he sees new beauties rise, 

Swift mantling to the view ; 
Like colors o'er the morning skies, 

As bright, as transient too. 

The bashful look, the rising breast, 

Alternate spread alarms : 
The lovely stranger stands confe?t 

A maid in all her charms. 

"And, ah ! forgive a stranger rude, 
A wretch forlorn," she cried; 

" Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude 
Where heaven and you reside. 

" But let a maid thy pity share, 
Whom love has taught to stray ; 

Who seeks for rest, but flnds despair 
Companion of her way. 

" My father lived beside the Tyne, 

A wealthy lord was he ; 
And all his wealth was marked as mine. 

He had but only me. 

" To win me from his tender arms, 

Unnumbered suitors came ; 
Who praised me for imputed charms, 

And felt, or feigned, a flame. 

" Each hour a mercenary crowd 

With richest proflers strove : 
Among the rest young Edwin bowed, 

But never talked of love. 

" In humble, simplest habit clad, 

ISTo wealth or power had he ; 
Wisdom and worth were all ho had, 

But these were all to me. 

" And when beside me in the dale 

He carolled lays of love. 
His breath lent fragrance to the gale, 

And music to the grove. 



lis 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



'^ The blossom opening to the day, 

The dews of heaven refined* 
Could nought of purity display 

To emulate his mind. 

" The dew, the blossoms of the tree, 
With charms inconstant shine ; 

Their charms were his, but, woe to me ! 
Their constancy was mine. 

" For still I tried each fickle art, 

Importunate and vain ; 
And while his passion touched my heart, 

I triumphed in his pain : 

"Till, quite dejected with my scorn, 

He left me to my pride ; 
And sought a solitude forlorn, 

In secret, where he died. 

" But mine the sorrow, mine the fault. 

And well my life shall pay ; 
111 seek the solitude he sought. 

And stretch me where he lay. 

*' And there forlorn, despairing, hid, 

I'll lay me down and die ; 
'Twas so for me that Edwin did, 

And so for him will I." 

"Forbid it, heaven! " the hermit cried. 
And clasped her to his breast ; 

The wondering fair one turned to chide,— 
'Twas Edwin's self that prest. 

" Turn, Angelina, ever dear, 

My charmer, turn to see 
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, 

Restored to love and thee. 

" Thus let me hold thee to my heart. 

And every care resign ; 
And shall we never, never part, 

My life — my all that's mine ? 

" No, never from this hour to part, 

We'll live and love so true ; 
Tlie sigh that rends thy constant heart 

Shall break thy Edwin's too." 

OLrrKR Goldsmith. 



SWEET WILLIAM'S FAEEWELL TO 
BLACK-EYED SUSAl^. 

All in the Downs the fleet was moored, 
The streamers waving in the wind^ 

When black-eyed Susan came aboard. 
Oh ! where shall I my true-love find ? 

Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, 

If my sweet William sails among your crew, 

William, who high upon the yard 

Rocked with the billows to and fro, 
Soon as her well-known voice he heard, 

He sighed and cast his eyes below : 
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing 

hands, 
And, quick as lightning, on the deck ho 
stands. 

So the sweet lark, high poised in air. 
Shuts close his pinions to his breast 

If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, 
And drops at once into her nest. 

The noblest captain in the British fleet 

Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 

Susan, Susan, lovely dear, 
My vows shall ever true remain ; 

Let me kiss off that falling tear ; 
We only part to meet again. 

Change, as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall 
be 

The faithful compass that still points to thee. 

Believe not what the landmen say, 

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind : 

They '11 tell thee, sailors, when away, 
In every port a mistress find : 

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee- so. 

For thou art present whereso'er I go. 

If to fair India's coast we sail, 

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, 

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, 
Thy skin is ivory so white. 

Thus every beauteous object that I vieT^■, 

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 



THE SEAMAN'S HAPPY KETURN. 



21y 



riiough battle call me from thy arms, 
Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 

Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms, 
William shall to his dear return. 

Love turns aside the balls that round mo fly. 

Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's 
eye. 

The boatsAvain gave the dreadful word. 
The sails their swelling bosom spread ; 

N'o longer must she stay aboard ; 

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. 

Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land : 

Adieu ! she cries ; and waved her lily hand. 

John Gay. 



THE SEAMAN'S HAPPY RETUEIS^. 

When Sol did cast no light, being darkened 
over, 

And the dark time of night did the skies 
cover, 

Running a river by, there were ships sail- 
ing, 

A maid most fair I spied, crying and wailing. 

Unto this maid I stept, asking what grieved 
her; 

She answered me and wept, fates had de- 
ceived her : 

My love is prest, quoth she, to cross the 
ocean — 

Proud waves to make the ship ever in motion. 

We loved seven years and more, both being 
sure. 

But I am left on shore, grief to endure. 

He promised back to turn, if life was spared 
him; 

With grief I daily mourn death hath de- 
barred him. 

■straight a brisk lad she spied, made her ad- 
mire, 

A present she received pleased her desire. 

Is my love safe, quoth she, will he come near 
me? 

Tlie young man answei made, Virgin, pray 
hear me. 



Under one banner bright, for England's glory, 
Your love and I did fight — mark well my 

story ; 
By an unhappy shot we two were parted ; 
His death's wound then he got, though 

valiant-hearted. 

All this I witness can, for I stood by him, 
For courage, I must say, none did outvie 

him ; 
He still would foremost be, striving foi 

honor ; 
But fortune is a cheat, — vengeance upon her ! 

But ere he was quite dead, or his heart 

broken. 
To me these words he said. Pray give this 

token 
To my love, for there is than she no fairer ; 
Tell her she must be kind and love the 

bearer. 

Intombed he now doth lye in stately manner, 
'Cause he fought valiantly for love and hon- 
or. 
That right he had in you, to me he gave it ; 
jN"ow since it is my due, pray let me have it. 

She, raging, flung away like one distracted, . 
1^0 1 knowing what to say, nor what she 

acted. 
So last she cursed her fate, and showed her 

anger. 
Saying, Friend, you come too late, I '11 liave 

no stranger. 

To your own house return, I am best pleasei! 

Here for my love to mourn, since he 's de- 
ceased. 

In sable weeds I '11 go, let who will jeer me ; 

Since death lias served me so, none shall 
come near me. 

The chaste Penelope mourned for Ulysses ; 
I have more grief than she, robbed of my 

blisses. 
I'll ne'er love man again, therefore pray heai 

me ; 
I'll slight you with disdain if you come uvai 

me. 



220 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



[ know he loved me well, for when we 
parted, 

None did in grief excel, — both were true- 
hearted. 

Those promises we made ne'er shall he 
broken ; 

Those words that then he said ne'er shall he 
spoken. 

He hearing what she said, made his love 
stronger ; 

Off his disguise he laid, and staid no longer. 

When her dear love she knew, in wanton 
fashion 

Into his arms she flew, — such is love's pas- 
sion ! 

He asked her how she liked his counter- 
feiting, 

Whether she was well pleased with such like 
greeting ? 

Yon are well versed, quoth she, in several 
speeches, 

Could you coin money so, you might get 
riches. 

happy gale of wind that waft thee over ! 
May heaven preserve that ship that brought 

my lover ! 
Come kiss me now, my sweet, true love's no 

slander ; 
Thou shalt my Hero be, I thy Leander 

Dido of Carthage queen loved stout ^neas, 
But my true love is found more true than he 

was. 
Venus ne'er fonder was of younger Adonis, 
Than I will be of thee, since thy love her 

own is. 

Then hand in hand they walk with mirth 

and pleasure. 
They laugh, they kiss, they talk — love knows 

no measure. 
N'ow both do sit and sing — but she sings 

clearest ; 
(..ike nightingale in spring, Welcome my 

dearest ! 

ANONYMOUS. 



THE EVE OF ST. AGRES. 



St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was ! 
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; 
The hare limped trembling through the h-r.zcn 

grass. 
And silent was the flock in woolly fold : 
N'umb were the headman's fingers while lie 

told 
His rosary, and while his frosted breath, 
Like pious incense from a censer old. 
Seemed taking flight for heaven without a 

death, 
Past the sweet virgin's picture, while his 

prayer he saith. 

II. 

His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man ; 
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from hir^ 

knees. 
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan^ 
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees ; 
The sculptured dead, on each side seem t/) 

freeze, 
Emprisoned in black, purgatorial rails ; 
Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, 
He passed by ; and his weak spirit fails 
To think how they may ache in icy hoods 

and mails. 



N"orthward he turneth through a little door, 
And scarce three steps, ere music's golden 

tongue 
Flattered to tears this aged man and poor ; 
But no — already had his death-bell rung ; 
The joys of all his life were said and sung : 
His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve ; 
Another way he went, and soon among 
Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve. 
And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake 

to grieve. 



That ancient beadsman heard tne prelude soft; 
And so it chanced, for many a door was wida 
From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft. 
The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



221 



The level chambers, ready with their pride, 
Were glowing to receive a thousand guests ; 
The carved angels, ever eager-eyed. 
Stared, where upon their heads the cornice 

rests. 
With hair blown back, and wings put cross- 
wise on their breasts. 



At length burst in the argent revelry, 
With plume, tiara, and all rich array, 
Numerous as shadows haunting fairily 
The brain, new-stuffed, in youth, with 

triumphs gay 
Of old romance. These let us wish away ; 
And turn, sole-thoughted, to one lady there. 
Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry 

day, 
On love, and winged St. Agnes' saintly care, 
As she had heard old dames full many times 

declare. 

VI. 

They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, 
Young virgins might have visions of delight, 
And soft adorings from their loves receive 
Ul-cn the honeyed middle of the night. 
If ceremonies due they did aright ; 
As, supperless to bed they must retire. 
And couch supine their beauties, lily white ; 
Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require 
Of heaven with upward eyes for all that 
they desire. 

VII. 

Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline ; 
The music, yearning like a god in pain, 
She scarcely heard ; her maiden eyes divine. 
Fixed on the floor, saw many a sweeping 

train 
Pass by — she heeded not at all ; in vain 
Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier. 
And back retired ; not cooled by high dis- 
dain. 
But she saw not ; her heart was otherwhere ; 
She sighed for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest 
of the year. 

VIII. 

She danced along with vague, regardless eyes. 
Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and 
short ; 



The hallowed hour was near at hand , shf^ 

sighs 
Amid the timbrels, and the thronged resort 
Of whisperers in anger, or in sport ; 
'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, 
Hoodwinked with fairy fancy ; all amort 
Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, 
And all the bliss to be before to-morrow 



So, purposing each moment to retire, 

She lingered still. Meantime, across the 

moors. 
Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire 
Foi* Madeline. Beside the portal doors. 
Buttressed irom moonlight, stands he, and 

implores 
All saints to give him sight of Madeline ; 
But for one moment in the tedious hours, 
That he might gaze and worship all unseen ; 
Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss — in sooth 

such things have been. 



He ventures in ; let no buzzed whisper tell ; 
All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords 
Will storm his heart, love's feverous citadel ; 
For him, those chambers held barbarian 

hordes. 
Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords. 
Whose very dogs would execrations howl 
Against his lineage ; not one breast affords 
Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, 
Save one old beldame, weak in body and in 

soul. 

XI. 

Ah, happy chance ! the aged creature came, 
Shuffling along with ivory -headed wand. 
To where he stood, hid from the torch'e 

flame. 
Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond 
The sound of merriment and chorus bland. 
He startled her ; but soon she knew his face 
And grasped his fingers in her palsied liand. 
Saying, *' Mercy, Porphyro I hie tliee from 

this place ; 
They are all here to-night, the whole blood- 
thirsty race I 



222 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



XII. 

•' ftet hence ! get hence ! there 's dwarfish 

Hildebrand ; 
He had a fever late, and in the fit 
He cursed thee and thine, both house and 

land ; 
Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a 

whit 
More tame for his gray hairs — Alas me ! flit ! 
Flit like a ghost away ! " — "Ah, gossip dear, 
We 're safe enough ; here in this arm-chair 

sit. 
And tell me how" — "Good saints, not here, 

not liere ; 
Follow me, child, or else these stones will be 

thy bier." 



He followed through a lowly arched way. 
Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume ; 
And as she muttered " Well-a — weli-a-day ! " 
He found him in a little moonlight room, 
Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb. 
" j^ow tell me where is Madeline," said he, 
'^ Oh tell me, Angela, by the holy loom 
Which none but secret sisterhood may see. 
When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving 
piously." 

XIV. 

" St. Agnes ! Ah ! it is St. Agnes' Eve — 
Yet men will murder upon holy days ; 
Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve. 
And be liege-lord of all the elves and fays, 
To venture so. It fills me with amaze 
To see thee Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' Eve ! 
God's help ! my lady fair the conjurer plays 
This very night ; good angels her deceive ! 
But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time 
to grieve." 

XV. 

Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon. 
While Porphyro upon her face doth look, 
Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone 
Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddle-book, 
As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. 
Rut soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she 
told 



His lady's purpose ; and he scarce could 

brook 
Tears, at the thought of those enchantment? 

cold. 
And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. 



XVI, 

Sudden a thought came like a full-blown 

rose. 
Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart 
Made purple riot ; then doth he propose 
A stratagem, that makes the beldame start ! 
" A cruel man and impious thou art ! 
Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep and dream 
Alone with her good angels, far apart 
From wicked men like thee. Go, go ! I deem 
Thou canst not surely be the same that thou 

didst seem." 



im 1 



" I will not harm her, by all saints I swear I" 
Quoth Porphyro ; "Oh may I ne'er find grace 
When my weak voice shall whisper its last 

prayer, 
If one of her soft ringlets I displace, 
Or look with rufiian passion in her face ; 
Good Angela, believe me by these tears ; 
Or I will, even in a moment's space. 
Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears. 
And beard them, though they be more fanged I! 

than wolves and bears." ' 



"Ah ! why wilt thou afiright a feeble soul '<} 
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard 

thing. 
Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight 

toll; 
Whose prayers for thee, each morn and 

evening. 
Were never missed." Thus plaining, doth 

she bring 
A gentler speech from burning Porphyro ; 
So woful, and of such deep sorrowing. 
That Angela gives promise she will do 
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal oi 

woe. 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



228 



XIX. 

Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, 
Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide 
Him in a closet, of such privacy 
That he might see her beauty unespied. 
And win perhaps that night a peerless bride ; 
While legioned fairies paced the coverlet, 
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed. 
Never on such a night have lovers met. 
Since Merlin paid his demon all the mon- 
strous debt. 



" It shall be as thou wishest," said the dame ; 
^' All cates and dainties shall be stored there 
Quickly on this feast-night ; by the tambour 

frame 
Her own lute thou wilt see ; no time to spare, 
For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare 
On such a catering trust my dizzy head. 
Wait here, my child, with patience kneel in 

prayer 
The while. Ah! thou must needs the lady 

wed. 
Or may I never leave my grave among the 

dead.'' 

XXI. 

So saying she hobbled off with busy fear. 
TJie lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd ; 
Tlie dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear 
To follow her ; with aged eyes aghast 
From fright of dim espial. Safe at last. 
Through many a dusky gallery, they gain 
The maiden's chamber, silken, husli'd and 

chaste ; 
Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain. 
His poor guide hurried back with agues in 

her brain. 



Her faltering hand upon the balustrade. 
Old Angela was feeling for the stair. 
When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, 
Rose, like a missioned spirit, unaware ; 
With silver taper's light, and pious care, 
She turned, and down the aged gossip led 
To a safe level matting. Now prepare, 
Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed I 
She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove 
frayed and fled. 



Out went the taper as she hurried in ; 
Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died; 
She closed the door, she panted, all akin 
To spirits of the air, and visions wide ; 
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide ! 
But to her heart, her heart was voluble, 
Paining with eloquence her balmy side ; 
As though a tongueless nightingale should 

swell 
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled in 

her dell. 

XXIV. 

A casement high and triple-arched there was, 
All garlanded with carven imageries 
Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot- 
grass, 
And diamonded with panes of quaint device, 
Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes. 
As are the tiger-moth's deep-damasked wings; 
And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, 
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, 
A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of 
queens and kings. 



Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, 
And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair 

breast. 
As down she knelt for heaven's grace and 

boon; 
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest 
And on her silver cross soft amethyst, 
And on her hair a glory, like a saint ; 
She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, 
Save wings, for heaven. Porphyro grew faint 
She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal 

taint. 



Anon his heart revives; her vespers done, 
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; 
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; 
Loosens her fragrant bodice ; by degrees 
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees; 
Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, 
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, 
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, 
But dares not look behind, or all the charn' 
is fled. 



224 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, 
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay, 
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed 
Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away ; 
FloAvn like a thought, until the morrow-day ; 
Blissfully havened both from joy and pain ; 
Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims 

pray ; 
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, 
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud 

again. 

XXYIII. 

Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced, 
Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, 
And listened to her breathing, if it chanced 
To wake into a slumberous tenderness ; 
Which when he heard, that minute did he 

bless, 
And breathed himself; then from the closet 

crept, 
Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, 
And over the hushed carpet, silent, stept. 
And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, lo ! — 

how fast she slept. 

XXIX. 

Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon 
Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set 
A table, and, half anguished, threw thereon 
A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet: — 
Oh for some drowsy Morphean amulet ! 
The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion. 
The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet. 
Affray his ears, though but in dying tone : — 
The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise 
is gone. 

XXX. 

And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep. 
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavendered ; 
While he from forth the closet brought a 

heap 
Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and 

gourd ; 
With jellies soother than the creamy curd, 
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon ; 
Manna and dates, in argosy transferred 
From Fez ; and spiced dainties, every one, 
From silken Samarcand to cedared Lebanon. 



These delicates he heaped with glowing hand 
On golden dishes and in baskets bright 
Of wreathed silver. Sumptuous they stand 
In the retired quiet of the night. 
Filling the chilly room with perfume light. — 
" And now, my love, my seraph fair awake ! 
Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite ; 
Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake. 
Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul 
doth ache." 

XXXII. 

Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm 
Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream 
By the dusk curtains; — 'twas a midnight 

charm 
Impossible to melt as iced stream : 
The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; 
Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies ; 
It seemed he never, never could redeem 
From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes ; 
So mused awhile, entoiled in woofed phanta- 
sies. 



XXXIII. 



I 



Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, — 
Tumultuous, — and, in chords that tenderest 

be, 
He played an ancient ditty, long since mute. 
In Provence called '^La belle dame sans 

mercy;" 
Close to her ear touchhig the melody ; — 
Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan ; 
He ceased— she panted quick — and suddenly 
Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone ; 
Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth- 
sculptured stone. 

XXXIV. 

Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, 
IsTow wide awake, the vision of her sleep. 
There was a painful change, that nigh ex 

pelled 
The blisses of her dream so pure and deep ; 
At which fair Madeline began to weep. 
And moan forth witless words with many a 

sigh; 
While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep* 



THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous 

eye, 
Fearing to move or speak, she looked so dream- 

ingly. 

XXXV. 

' Ah, Porphyro ! " said she, " but even now 
Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, 
Made tunable with every sweetest vow ; 
And those Sad eyes were spiritual and clear ; 
How changed thou art! how pallid, chill, 

and drear ! 
Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, 
Those looks immortal, those complainings 

dear ! 
Oil leave me not in this eternal woe. 
For if thou diest, my love, I know not where 

to go." 

XXXVI. 

Beyond a mortal man impassioned far 
At these voluptuous accents, he arose, 
Ethereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star 
Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose ; 
Into her dream he melted, as the rose 
Blendeth its odor with the violet, — 
Solution sweet; meantime the frost-wind 

blows 
Like love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet 
Against the window-panes ; St. Agnes' moon 

hath set. 

XXXVII. 

*T is dark ; quick pattereth the flaw-blown 

sleet ; 
" This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline ! " 
'Tis dark; the iced gusts still rave and beat : 
" ITo dream, alas ! alas ! and woe is mine ! 
Porphyro will leave me here to fade and 

pine. — 
Cruel ! what traitor could thee hither bring ? 
I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine. 
Though thou forsakest a deceived thing ; — 
A dove forlorn and lost, with sick, unpruned 

wing." 

XXXVIII. 

•* My Madeline ! sweet dreamer ! lovely bride ! 

Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest ? 

Thy beauty's shield, heart-sliaped and vermeil 

dyed ? 
^ 38 



Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rcFT, 
After so many hours of toil and quest, 
A famished pilgrim,-^saved by miracle. 
Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest 
Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st weli 
To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. 

XXXIX. 

" Hark ! ^tis an elfin storm from fairy land, 
Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed : 
Arise — arise ! the morning is at hand ; — 
The bloated wassailers will never heed. 
Let us away, my love, with happy speed ; 
There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, — 
Drowned all in Khenish and the sleepy mead. 
Awake ! arise ! my love, and fearless be. 
For o'er the southern moors I have a home 
for thee." 

XL. 

She hurried at his words, beset with fears, 
For there were sleeping dragons all around, 
At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears — 
Down the wide stairs a darkling way they 

found. 
In all the house was heard no human sound. 
A chain-drooped lamp was flickering by each 

door ; 
The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and 

hound. 
Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar ; 
And the long carpets rose along the gusty 

floor. 

XLI. 

They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall! 
Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide, 
Where lay the porter, in uneasy sprawl, 
With a huge empty flagon by his side ; 
The wakeful bloodhound rose, and sliook hi? 

hide. 
But his sagacious eye an inmate owns ; 
By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide ; 
The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; 
The key turns, and the door upon its hinaref 

groans. 



And they are gone 1 ay, ages long ago 
These lovers fled awav into the storm. 



<26 



POEMS OF LOVE, 



riiat uight the baron dreamt of many a woe, 
And all his warrior-guests, with shade and 

form 
Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, 
Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old 
Died palsy-twitched, with meagre face de- 
form ; 
The beadsman, after thousand aves told. 
For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes 

cold. 

John Keats. 



THE BEIDAL OF AKDALLA. 

*RiSE up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden 

cushion down ; 
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with 

all the town ! 
From gay guitar and violin the silver notes 

are flowing. 
And the lovely lute doth speak between the 

trumpets' lordly blowing. 
And banners bright from lattice light are 

waving every where, 
And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bride- 
groom floats proudly in the air. 
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden 

cushion down ; 
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with 

all the town ! 

" Arise, arise, Xarifa ! I see Andalla's face — 
He bends him to the people with a calm and 

princely grace ; 
Through all the land of Xeres and banks of 

Guadalquiver 
Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so 

brave and lovely never. 
Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of pur- 
ple mixed with white, 
r guess 'twas wreathed by Zara, whom he 

will wed to-night. 
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden 

cushion down ; 
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with 

all the town ! 

'What aileth thee, Xarifa — what makes 

thine eyes look down ? 
Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze 

with all the town ? 



I 've heard you say on many a day, and sure 

you said the truth, 
Andalla rides without a peer among all 

Granada's youth : 
Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white 

horse doth go 
Beneath his stately master, with a stately 

step and slow : — 
Then rise — Oh! rise, Xarifa, lay the golden 

cushion down ; 
Unseen here through the lattice, you ma\' 

gaze with all the town ! " 



The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion 

down, 
ISTor came she to the window to gaze with all 

the town ; 
But though her eyes dwelt on lier knee, in 

vain her fingers strove. 
And though her needle pressed the silk, no 

flower Xarifa wove ; 
One bonny rose-bud she had traced before 

the noise drew nigh — 
That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow drooping 

from her eye — 
" Ko — no ! " she sighs — " bid me not rise, noi 

lay my cushion down. 
To gaze upon Andalla with all the gf^ing 

town ! " 

" Why rise ye not, Xarifa — nor lay your 

cushion down — 
Why gaze ye not, Xarifa — w^ith all the gazing 

town ? 
Hear, hear the trumpet how it sw^ells, ♦ind 

how the people cry ; 
He stops at Zara's palace-gate — w^hy sit ye 

still--0, why?" 
— " At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate ; in him 

shall I discover 
The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth 

with tears, and was my lover ? 
I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay uiy 

cushion down. 

To gaze on false Andalla with all t,ho gazing 

town ! " 

Anonymous. (Spanish.') 
Translation of John Gibson Lockhart. 



THE DAY-DREAM. 



22^< 



THE DAY-DREAM. 

THE SLEEPING PALACE. 

The varying year with blade and sheaf 

Clothes and re-clothes the happy plains ; 
Here rests the sap within the leaf; 

Here stays the blood along the veins. 
Faint shadows, vapors lightly curled, 

Faint murmurs from the meadows come, 
Like hints and echoes of the world 

To spirits folded in the womb. 

Soft lustre bathes the range of urns 

On every slanting terrace-lawn, 
Tlie fountain to his place returns, 

Deep in the garden lake withdrawn. 
Here droops the banner on the tower, 

On the hall-hearths the festal fires, 
The peacock in his 'laurel bower. 

The parrot in his gilded wires. 

Roof-haunting martins warm their eggs ; 

In these, in those the life is stayed. 
The mantles from the golden pegs 

Droop sleepily. jN'o sound is made — 
N^ot even of a gnat that sings. 

More like a picture seemeth all. 
Than those old portraits of old kings 

That watch the sleepers from the wall. 

Here sits the butler with a flask 

Between his knees, half-drained ; and there 
The wrinkled steward at his task ; 

The maid-of-honor blooming fair. 
The page has caught her hand in his ; 

Her lips are severed as to speak ; 
His own are pouted to a kiss ; 

The blush is fixed upon her cheek. 

Till all the hundred summers pass. 

The beams, that through the oriel shine, 
Make prisms in every carven glass. 

And beaker brimmed with noble wine. 
' Each baron at the banquet sleeps ; 

Grave faces gathered in a ring, 
i Qis state the king reposing keeps : 

He must have been a jolly king. 

All round a hedge upshoots, and shows 

At distance like a little wood ; 
Thorns, ivies, woodbine, mistletoes. 

And grapes with bunches red as blood : 



All creeping plants, a wall of green 
Close-matted, burr and brake and briai 

And glimpsing over these, just seen. 
High up, the topmost palace-spire. 

When will the hundred summers die. 

And thought and time be born again, 
And newer knowledge, drawing nigh, 

Bring truth that sways the soul of men i 
Here all things in their place remain. 

As all were ordered, ages since. 
Come care and pleasure, hope and pain. 

And bring the fated fairy prince ! 

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY, 

Year after year unto her feet. 

She lying on her couch alone. 
Across the purple coverlet. 

The maiden's jet-black hair has grown ; 
On either side her tranced form 

Forth streaming from a braid of pearl ; 
The slumb'rous light is rich and warm, 

And moves not on the rounded curl. 

The silk star-broidered coverlid 

Unto her limbs itself doth mould, 
Languidly ever ; and, amid 

Her full black ringlets, downward rolled 
Glows forth each softly-shadowed arm. 

With bracelets of the diamond bright. 
Her constant beauty doth inform 

Stillness with love, and day with light. 

She sleeps ; her breathings are not heard 

In palace chambers far apart. 
The fragrant tresses are not stirred 

That lie upon her charmed heart. 
She sleeps ; on either liand upswells 

The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest; 
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells 

A perfect form in perfect rest. 

the akrival 

All precious things, discovered late, 

To those that seek them issue forth ; 
For love in sequel works with tate, 

And draws the veil from hidden worth 
He travels far from other skies — 

His numtle glitters on the rocks — 
A fi\iry prince, with joyful cye«, 

And liffhter-footed than the fox. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



riio bodies and the boDes of those 

That strove in other days to pass, 
Are withered in the thorny close, 

Or scattered blanching in the grass. 
Ele gazes on the silent dead : 

" They perished in their daring deeds." 
This proverb flashes through his head : 

'' The many fail ; the one succeeds." 

He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks. 

He breaks the hedge ; he enters there ; 
The color flies into his cheeks ; 

He trusts to light on something fair ; 
For all his life the charm did talk 

About his path, and hover near 
With words of promise in his walk. 

And whispered voices in his ear. 

More close and close his footsteps wind ; 

The magic music in his heart 
Beats quick and quicker, till he find 

The quiet chamber far apart. 
His spirit flutters like a lark, 

He stoops — to kiss her — on his knee : 
" Love, if thy tresses be so dark. 

How dark those hidden eyes must be ! " 

THE EEVIVAL. 

A TOUCH, a kiss ! the charm was snapt. 

There rose a noise of striking clocks ; 
And feet that ran, and doors that clapt. 

And barking dogs, and crowing cocks ; 
A fuller light illumined all ; 

A breeze through all the garden swept ; 
cV sudden hubbub shook the hall ; 

And sixty feet the fountain leapt. 

The hedge broke in, the banner blew, 

Tlie butler drank, the steward scrawled. 
The fire shot up, tlie martin flew, 

The parrot screamed, the peacock squalled; 
The maid and page renewed their strife ; 

The palace banged, and buzzed and clackt; 
And all the long-pent stream of life 

Dashed downward in a cataract. 

tVnd last of all the king awoke. 
And in his chair himself upreared, 

And yawned, and rubbed his face, and spoke; 
"By holy rood, a royal beard ! 



How say you? we have slept, my lord^- 
My beard has grown into my lap." 

The barons swore, with many words, 
'Twas but an after-dinner's nap. 

''Pardy! " returned the king, "but still 

My joints are something stiflT or so. 
My lord, and shall wo pass the bill 

I mentioned half an hour ago ? " 
The chancellor, sedate and vain. 

In courteous words returned reply ; 
But dallied with his golden chain, 

And, smiling, put the question by. 

THE DEPAETUEE. 

And on her lover's arm she leant. 

And round her waist she felt it fold ; 
And far across the hills they went 

In that new world which is the old. 
Across the hills, and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim. 
And deep into the dying day, 

The happy princess followed him. 

"I'd sleep another hundred years, 

love, for such another kiss ! " 
"Oh wake for ever, love," she hears, 

"0 love, 'twas such as this and this." 
And o'er them many a sliding star, 

And many a merry wind was borne. 
And, streamed through many a golden bai\ 

The twilight melted into morn. 

" eyes long laid in happy sleep ! " 

" happy sleep, that lightly fled! " 
" happy kiss, that woke thy sleep ! " 

"0 love, thy kiss would wake the deadl' 
And o'er them many a flowing range 

Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark ; 
And, rapt through many a rosy change. 

The twilight died into the dark. 



I 



"A hundred summers ! can it be? 

And whither goest thou, tell me where t " 
" Oh seek my father's court with me, 

For there are greater wonders there " 
And o'er the hills, and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
Beyond the night, across the day, 

Through all the world she followed him. 
Alfred Tennyson 



LOVE. 



229 



LOVE. 

All thouglits, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are but ministers of love. 
And feed his sacred flame. 

Oft in my waking dreams do I 
Li\ e o'er again that happy hour, 
When midway on the mount I lay, 
Beside the ruined tower. 

The moonshine stealing o'er tlie scene, 
Sad blended with the liglits of eve ; 
And she was there, my hope, my joy. 
My own dear Genevieve ! 

She leaned against the armed man, 
The statue of the armed knight ; 
She stood and listened to my lay, 
Amid the lingering hght. 

Few sorrows hath she of her own, 
My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
She loves me best whene'er I sing 
The songs that make her grieve. 

1 played a soft and doleful air ; 
I sang an old and moving story — 
An old, rude song, that suited well 
That ruin wild and hoary. 

She listened with a flitting blush. 
With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
For well she knew I could not choose 
But gaze upon her face. 

I told her of the knight that wore 
Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
And that for ten long years he wooed 
The lady of the land. 

I told her how he pined — and ah ! 
The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
With which I sang another's love, 
Interpreted my own. 

She listened with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
And she forgave me that I gazed 
Too fondly on her face ! 

But when I told the cruel scorn 

That crazed that bold and lovely knight, 



Ajid that he crossed the mountain-woods, 
N"or rested day nor night ; 

That sometimes from the savage den, 
And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
And sometimes starting up at once 
In green and sunny glade, — 

There came and looked him in the face 
An angel beautiful and bright; 
And that he knew it was a fiend. 
This miserable knight ! 

And that, unknowing what he did. 
He leaped amid a murderous band, 
And saved from outrage worse than death, 
The lady of the land ; 

And how she wept and clasped his knees ; 
And how she tended him in vain — 
And ever strove to expiate 

The scorn that crazed his brain ; — 

And that she nursed him in a cave ; 
And how his madness went away. 
When on the yellow forest-leaves 
A dying man he lay ; — 

His dying words — but when I reached 
That tenderest strain of all the ditty. 
My faltering voice and pausing harp 
Disturbed her soul with pity ! 

All impulses of soul and sense 
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ; 
The music and the doleful tale. 
The rich and balmy eve ; 

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
An undistinguishable throng^ 
x\nd gentle wishes long subdued. 
Subdued and cherished long I 

She wept with pity and delight — 
She blushed with love, and virgin shame; 
And like the murmur of a dream, 
I heard her breathe my name. 

Her bosom heaved ; she stepped aside— 
As conscious of my look she stept — 
Then suddenly, with timorous eye. 
She fled to me and wept. 

She half inclosed me with her arms ; 
She pressed me with a meek embrace ; 



280 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And bending back ber bead, looked up. 
And gazed upon my face. 

'T was partly love, and partly fear, 
And partly 'twas a basbfid art, 
That I migbt ratber feel, tban see, 
Tbe swelling of ber beart. 

I calmed ber fears, and sbe was calm, 
And told ber love witb virgin pride ; 
And so I won my Genevieve, 

My brigbt and beauteous bride. 

Samuel Taylor Coleetdgb. 



ZAEA'S EAR-RIis^GS. 

My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! tbey 've di-opped 

into tbe well, 
And wbat to say to Muga, I cannot, cannot 

tell— 
'T was tbus, Granada's fountain by, spoke 

Albubai'ez' daugbter: — 
Tbe well is deep — ^far down tbey lie, beneatb 

tbe cold blue water ; 
T: ine did Muga give tliem, wben be spake 

bis sad farewell. 
And wbat to say wben be comes back, alas ! 

I cannot tell. 

My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! — tbey were 

pearls in silver set. 
That, wben my Moor was far away, I ne'er 

sbould bim forget ; 
Tbat I ne'er to otber tongues sbould list, nor 

smile on otber's tale. 
But remember be my lips bad kissed, pure as 

tbose ear-rings pale. 
Wben be comes back, and bears tbat I bave 

dropped tbem in tbe well, 
Ob ! wbat will Muga tbink of me ? — I cannot, 

cannot tell ! 

My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! — ^be '11 say tbey 

sbould bave been. 
Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and 

glittering sbeen. 
Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond sbin- 

ing clear, 
Olianging to tbe cbanging ligbt, with radiance 

insincere ; 



Tbat cbangeful mind uncbangbig gems arf 

not befitting well, 
Tbus will be tbink — and wbat to say, alas 

I cannot tell. 

He '11 tbink, wben I to market went I loitered 

by tbe way ; 
He '11 tbink a willing ear I lent to all tbe ladr 

migbt say ; 
He '11 tbink some otber lover's hand, amona 

my tresses noosed. 
From tbe ears where he had placed them my 

rings of pearl unloosed ; 
He '11 tbink wben I was sporting so beside 

bis marble well 
My pearls fell in — and what to say, alas ! 1 i 

cannot tell. jfM 

He '11 say, I am a woman, and we are all the 

same ; 
He '11 say, I loved, wben be was here to 

whisper of his flame — 
But wben be went to Tunis, my virgin troth • 

bad broken. 
And thought no more of Muga, and cared not 

for bis token. 
My ear-rings ! my ear-rings : oh ! lucklesa, 

luckless well, — 
For wbat to say to Muga— alas ! I cannot tell. 

I '11 tell tbe truth to Muga — and I hope he 
will believe — 

Tbat I thought of him at morning and thought 
of bim at eve ; 

That, musing on my lover, when down the 
sun was gone, 

His ear-rings in my hand I held, by tbe foun- 
tain all alone ; 

And tbat my mind was o'er tbe sea, when 
from my hand tbey fell. 

And tbat deep his love lies in my heai-t, da 
tbey lie in tbe well. 

Anonymous. (Spanitjh.'i 
Translation of John Gibson Lockdast. 



SEREAKA. 

I ne'er on the border 
Saw girl fair as Eosa, 

The charming milk-maiden 
Of sweet Finoiosa. 



THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. 



ii31 



Once making a journey 

To Santa Maria 
Of Calataveilo, 

From weary desire 
Of sleep, down a valley 

I strayed, wliere young Rosa 
I saw, the railk-maiden 

Of lone Finojosa. 

In a pleasant green meadow, 

^Midst roses and grasses, 
Her herd slie was tending. 

With other fair lasses ; 
So lovely her aspect, 

I could not suppose hei 
A simple milk-maidei^ 

Of rude Finojosa. 

I think not primroses 

Have half her smile's sweetness. 
Or mild, modest beauty ; 

I speak with discreetness. 
Oh, had I beforehand 

But known of this Rosa, 
The lovely milk-maiden 

Of fair Finojosa! 

Her very great beauty 

Had not so subdued. 
Because it had left me, 

To do as 1 would. 
I have said more, fair one. 

By learning 't was Rosa, 
The charming milk-maiden 

Of sweet Finojosa. 

Lope db Mendoza. (Spanish.) 
Translation of J. H. WirFEX 



THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. 

]i[KLL0W the moonlight to shine is beginning ; 

Close by the window young Eileen is spin- 
ning; 

Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sit- 
ting, 

Is croaning, and moaning, and drowsily knit- 
ting— 

'^Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping." 

"'Ti? the ivy, dear mother, against the glass 
flapping." 

** Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." 



" 'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer 

wind dying." 
Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, 
Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the 

foot 's stirring ; 
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing. 
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden 

singing. 



" What 's that noise that I hear at the window, 

I wonder ? " 
'* 'T is the little birds chirping the holly-bush 

under." 
'* What makes you be shoving and moving 

your stool on. 
And singing all wrong that old song of ' The 

Coolun?'" 
There's a form at the casement — the form of 

her true-love — 
And he whispers, with face bent, " I 'm wait- 
ing for you, love ; 
Get up on the stool, through the lattice step 

lightly, 
We'll rove in the grove while the moon's 

shining brightly." 
Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, 
Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the 

foot 's stuTing ; 
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing. 
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden 

singing. 



The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays 

her fingers, 
Steals up from her seat — ^longs to go, and yet 

lingers ; 
A frightened glance turns to her drowsy 

grandmother. 
Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel 

with the other. 
Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round ; 
Slowly and lowly is heard now the reels- 
sound ; . 
Noiseless and light to the lattice above her 
The maid steps — then leaps to the anns of 

her lover. 
Slower — and slower — and slower the wheel 

swings ; 
Lower — and lower — and lower the reel rings ; 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Ere tlie reel and the wheel stop their ringing 
and moving, 

Through the grove the young lovers hy moon- 
light are roving. 

John Francis Waller. 



WATCH SONG. 

The sun is gone down, 

And the moon upward springeth ; 
The night creepeth onward ; 

The nightingale singeth. 
To himself said a watchman, 

" Is any knight v^aiting 
In pain for his lady. 

To give her his greeting ? 

Now, tlien, for their meeting ! " 

His words heard a knight, 
In the garden while roaming : 

" Ah, watchman ! " he said, 
'' Is the daylight fast coming? 

And may I not see her. 

And wilt not thou aid me? " 

"Go, wait in thy covert, 
Lest the cock crow reveille, 
And the dawn should hetray thee." 

Then in went that watchman. 

And called for the fair ; 
And gently he roused her : 

''Rise, lady! prepare! 
New tidings I hring thee, 

And strange to thine ear ; 
Come, rouse thee up quickly — 

Thy knight tarries near ; 

Rise, lady ! appear ! " 

" Ah, watchman ! though purely 

The moon shines ahove, 
Yet trust not securely 

That feigned tale of ^ove. 
Far, far from my presence 

My own knight is straying ; 
And, sadly repining, 

I mourn his long staying. 

And weep his delaying.'" 

'* Nay, lady 1 yet trust me. 

No falsehood is there." 
Then up sprang that lady 

And braided her hair. 



And donned her white garment, 

Her purest of white ; 
And her heart with joy trembling, 
She rushed to the sight 
Of her own faithful knight. 

Anonymous. (Germim.) 
Translation of Edgar Taylor. 



THE OLD STORY. 

He came across the meadow-pass, 

That summer eve of eves — 
The sunlight streamed along the grass 

And glanced amid the leaves; 
And from the shrubbery below, 

And from the garden trees, 
He heard the thrushes' music flow 

And humming of the bees ; 
The garden gate was swung apart — 

The space was brief between ; 
But there, for throbbing of his heart. 

He paused perforce to lean. 

He leaned upon the garden-gate ; 

He looked, and scarce he breathed; 
Within the little porch she sate, 

With woodbine overwreathed ; 
Her eyes upon her work were bent, 

Unconscious who was nigh : 
But oft the needle slowly went, 

And oft did idle lie : 
And ever to her hps arose 

Sweet fragments sweetly sung. 
But ever, ere the notes could close, 

She hushed them on her tongue. 

Her fancies as they come and go. 

Her pure face speaks the while ; 
For now it is a flitting glow, 

And now a breaking smile ; 
And now it is a graver shade, 

When holier thoughts are there— 
An angel's pinion might be stayed 

To see a sight so fair; 
But stiU they hid her looks of light, 

Those downcast eyehds pale- 
Two lovely clouds, so silken white, 

Two lovelier stars that veil. 

The sun at length his burning edge 

Had rested on the hill. 
And, save one thrush from out the hedgo, 

Both bower and grove were still. 



JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 



238 



The sun had almost bade farewell ; 

But one reluctant ray 
Still loved within that porch to dwell, 

As charmed there to stay — 
It stole aslant the pear-tree bough, 

And through the woodbine fringe, 
And kissed the maiden's neck and brow, 

And bathed her in its tinge. 

** beauty of ray heart ! " he said, 

'' darling, darling mine ! 
Was ever light of evening shed 

On loveliness like thine ? 
"Why should I ever leave this spot, 

But gaze until I die ? '' 
A moment from that bursting thought 

She felt his footstep nigh, 
One sudden, lifted glance — but one — 

A tremor and a start — 
So gently was their greeting done 

That who would guess their heart ? 

Long, long the sun had sunken down, 

And all his golden hail 
Had died away to lines of brown, 

In duskier hues that fail. 
The grasshopper was chirping slirill — 

N"o other living sound 
Accompanied the tiny rill 

That gurgled under ground — 
No other living sound, unless 

Some spirit bent to hear 
Low words of human tenderness 

And mingling whispers near. 

The stars, like pallid gems at first, 

Deep in the liquid sky, 
Now forth upon the darkness burst. 

Sole kings and lights on high ; 
For splendor, myriad-fold, supreme. 

No rival moonlight strove ; 
Nor lovelier e'er was Ilcsper's beam. 

Nor more majestic Jove. 
But what if hearts there beat that night 

That recked not of the skies, 
Or only felt their imaged light 

In one another's eyes ? 

And if two worlds of hidden thought 

And longing passion met, 
Which, passing human language, sought 

And found an utterance yet ; 



And if they trembled as the flowers 

That droop across the stream. 
And muse the while the starry hours 

Wait o'er them like a dream ; 
And if, when came the parting time, 

They faltered still and clung ; 
What is it all ? — an ancient rhyme 

Ten thousand times besung— 
That part of Paradise which man 

Without the portal knows, — 
Which hath been since the world began, 

And shall be till its close. 

A.NONYMOUa 



JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 

'' Why weep ye by the tide, ladye — 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 
I '11 wed ye to my youngest son, 

And ye shall be his bride ; 
And ye shall be his bride, ladye 

Sae comely to be seen." — 
But ay she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

*' Now let this wilful grief be done, 

And di*y that cheek so pale ; 
Young Frank is chief of Errington, 

And lord of Langley dale : 
His step is first in peaceful ha'. 

His sword in battle keen." — 
But ay she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

" A chain of gold ye shall not lack, 

Nor braid to bind your hair. 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair; 
And you the foremost of them a' 

Shall ride, our forest queen." — 
But ay she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

The kirk was decked at morning tide; 

The tapers glhnmered fiiir ; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 

And knight and dame arc there ; 
They sought her both by bower and ha' ; 

The ladye was not seen. — 

She 's o'er the border, and awa' 

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 

Sir Walteb Scott, 



284 



POEMS OF LOVE 



LOOHINVAR. 

Oh, young Locliinvar is come out of the 
west ; 

Through all the wide border his steed was 
the best ; 

And save liis good broad-sword he weapons 
had none ; 

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 

There never was knight like the young Loch- 
invar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not 

for stone ; 
He swam the Eske river where ford there 

was none ; 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
The bride had consented, the gallant came 

late: 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochin- 

var. 

•^o boldly he entered the ITetherby hall, 

'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and broth- 
ers, and all ; 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on 
his sword, 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never 
a word,) 

" Oh come ye in peace here, or come ye in 
war. 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochin- 
var ? " 

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you 

denied — 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its 

tide — 
And now I am come, with this lost love of 

mine. 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of 

wine ; 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely 

by far, 
Tbfit would gladly be bride to the young 

Lochinvar." 



The bride kissed the goblet — the knight took 

it up ; 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down , 

the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up 

to sigh. 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in hei 

eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could 

bar, — 
"Kow tread we a measure!" said young 

Lochinvar. 

i 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret and her father did 
fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bon- 
net and plume ; 

And the bride-maidens whispered, '"T were 
better by far 

To have matched our fair cousin with young 
Lochinvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in ber 

ear, 
When they reached the hall door and the 

charger stood near ; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, 

and scaur ; 
They '11 have fleet steeds that follow," quoth 

young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the 

Netherby clan ; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode 

and they ran : 
There w^as racing, and chasing, on Cannobie 

Lee, 
But the lost bride of ISTetherby ne'er did they 

see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young 

Lochinvar ? 

Sir Walter Soottc \ 



LOVE IN THE VALLEY. 



286 



LOYE m THE VALLEY. 

CJndee yonder beech-tree standing on the 
green sward, 

Couched with her arms behind her little head, 

13 (T knees folded up, and her tresses on her 
bosom, 

Lies my young love sleeping in the shade. 

Had I the heart to slide one arm beneath her! 

Press her dreaming lips as her waist I folded 
slow. 

Waking on the instant she could not but em- 
brace me — 

Ah ! would she hold me, and never let me go ? 

Bhy as the squirrel, and wayward as the 
swallow ; 

Swift as the swallow when, athwart the west- 
ern flood, 

Circleting the surface, he meets his mirrored 
winglets — 

Is that dear one in her maiden bud. 

Shy as the squirrel whose nest is in the pine 
tops ; 

Gentle — ah! that she were jealous — as the 
dove ! 

Full of all the wildness of the woodland crea- 
tures, 

Happy in herself is the maiden that I love ! 

What can have taught her distrust of all I tell 
her? 

Can she truly doubt me when looking on my 
brows ? 

Nature never teaches distrust of tender love- 
tales — 

What can have taught her distrust of all my 
vows ? 

No, she does not doubt me ! on a dewy eve- 
tide, 

Whispering together beneath the listening 
moon, 

I prayed till her cheek flushed, implored till 
she faltered — 

Kluttered to my bosom — ah ! to fly away so 
soon ! 

WJien her mother tends her before the laugh- 
ing mirror, 
Tying up her laces, looping up her hair, 



Often she thinks — were this wild thing 
wedded, 

I should have more love, and much less care. 

When her mother tends her before the bash- 
ful mirror. 

Loosening her laces, combing down her curls^ 

Often she thinks — were this wild thing 
wedded, 

I should lose but one for so many boys and 
girls. 

Clambering roses peep into her chamber ; 

Jasmine and woodbine breathe sweet, sweet 

White-necked swallows, twittering of sum- 
mer. 

Fill her with balm and nested peace from 
head to feet. 

Ah ! will the rose-bough see her lying lonely, 

TV^hen the petals fall and fierce bloom is on 
the leaves ? 

"Will tlie autumn garners see her still un- 
gathered, 

When the fickle swallows forsake the weep- 
ing eaves ? 

Comes a sudden question — should a strange 

hand pluck her ! 
Oh ! what an anguish smites me at the thought ! 
Should some idle lordling bribe her mind with 

jewels ! — 
Can such beauty ever thus be bought ? 
Sometimes the huntsmen, prancing down the 

valley, 
Eye the village lasses, full of sprightly mirth ; 
They see, as I see, mine is the fiiirest ! 
Would she were older and could read my 

worth ! 

Are there not sweet maidens, if she still deny 

me? 
Show the bridal heavens but one bright star? 
Wherefore thus then do I chase a shadow, 
Clattering one note like a brown eve-jar ? 
So I rhyme and reason till she darts before 

me — 
Through the milky meadows from flower tc 

flower she flies. 
Sunning her sweet palms to sliade her dazzled 

eyelids 
From the golden love that looks too eager iu 

lier eyes. 



236 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



When at dawn she wakens, and her fair face 

gazes 
Out on the weather through the window 

panes, 
Beauteous she looks ! like a white water-lily 
Bursting out of bud on the rippled river 

plains. 
When from bed she rises, clothed from neck 

to ankle 
In her long night gown, STveet as houghs of 

May, 
Beauteous she looks ! like a tall garden Hly, 
Pure from the night and perfect for the day ! 

Happy, happy time, when the gray star twin- 
kles 

Over the fields all fresh w^ith bloomy dew ; 

When the cold-cheeked dawn grows ruddy 
up the twilight, 

And the gold sun wakes and weds her in the 
blue. 

Then when ray darling tempts the early 
breezes, 

She the only s.tar that dies not with the dark ! 

Powerless to speak all the ardor of my pas- 
sion, 

I catch her little hand as we listen to the 
lark. 

Shall the birds in vain then valentine their 

sweethearts ? 
Season after season tell a fruitless tale ? 
Will not the virgin listen to their voices? 
Take the honeyed meaning, wear the bridal 

veil? 
Fears she frosts of winter, fears she the bare 

branches ? 
Waits she the garlands of spriiig for her 

dower ? 
Is she a nightingale that will not be nested 
Till the April woodland has built her bridal 

bower ? 

Then come, meriy April, with all thy birds 

and beauties ! 
With thy crescent brows and thy ficwery, 

showery glee : 
With thy budding leafage and fresh green 

pastures ; 
And may thy lustrous crescent grow a fcon- 

eyuioou for me ! 



^' Falsely, falsely have ye done, 
O mother," she said, "if this be true, 

To keep the best man under the sun 
So many years from his due." 

''ISTay now, my child," said Alice the nurfio 
" But keep the secret for your life, 

And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, 
When you are man and wife." 



Come, merry month of the cuckoo and tlie 

violet! 
Come, weeping loveliness in all thy blue 

delight ! 
Lo! the nest is ready, let me not languie-ij 

longer ! 
Bring her to my arms on the first May niglit; ^ 

George MBr.};r;rTii. 



LADY CLAPvE. 

LoED Rox^LD courted Lady Clare, 
I trow they did not part in scorn ; 

Lord Ronald, her cousin, courted her, 
And they will wed the morrow morn. 

" He does not love me for my birth, 
Nor for my lands so broad and fair ; 

He loves me for my own true worth, 
And that is well." said Lady Clare. 

In there came old Alice the nurse. 

Said, "Who was this that went from thf-e? '"* 

"It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, 
"To-morrow he weds with me." 

" Oh God be thanked! " said Alice the niirsu, 
"That all comes round so just and fair: 

Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands. 
And you are not the Lady Clare." 

"Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my 
nurse ? " 

Said Lady Clare, " that ye speak so wildS '^ 
"As God's above," said Alice the nurse, 

" 1 speak the truth : you are my child. 

"The old earl's daughter died at my breast' 
I speak the truth as I live by bread ! 

I buried her like my own sweet child, 
And put my child in her stead." 



• 



THE LETTERS. 



23*? 



•If I'm a beggar born," she said, 
*' I will speak out, for I dare not lie. 

Pall off, pull off the brooch of gold. 
And fling the diamond necklace by." 

''' IsTay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
'* But keep the secret all ye can." 

She said, "isTot so ; but I will know 
Tf there be any faith in man." 

" Nay now, what faith ? " said Alice the nurse, 
" The man will cleave unto his right." 

** And he shall have it," the lady replied, 
" Though I should die to-night." 

" Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ! 

Alas, my child, I sinned for thee." 
''0 mother, mother, mother! " she said, 

" So strange it seems to me. 

" Yet here 's a kiss for my mother dear, 

My mother dear, if this be so ; 
And lay your hand upon my head, 

And bless me mother, ere I go." 

She clad herself in russet gown, 

She was no longer Lady Clare ; 
She went by dale, and she went by down, 

With a single rose in her hair, 

A lily-white doe Lord Konald had brought 

Leapt up from where she lay, 
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, 

And followed her all the way. 

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower : 
" O Lady Clare, you shame your worth ! 

Why come you drest like a village maid, 
That are the flower of the earth ? " 

" If I come drest like a village maid, 

I am but as my fortunes are : 
r am a beggar born," she said, 

" And not the lady Clare." 

'* Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
" For I am yours in word and deed ; 

Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
" Your riddle is hard to read." 



Oh and proudly stood she up ! 

Her heart within her did not fail ; 
She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes. 

And told him all her nurse's tale. 

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn ; 

He turned and kissed her where she stood : 
" If you are not the heiress born. 

And I," said he, " the next in blood — 

'' If you are not the heiress born, 
And I," said he, '' the lawful heir. 

We two wiU wed to-morrow morn, 
And you shall still be Lady Clare." 

A.LFEED TeNXYBON. 



THE LETTERS. 



Still on the tower stood the vane ; 

A black yew gloomed the stagnant air ; 
I peered athwart the chancel pane 

And saw the altar cold and bare. 
A clog of lead was round my feet, 

A band of pain across my brow ; 
" Cold altar, heaven and earth shall meet 

Before you hear my marriage vow." 

IL 

I turned and hummed a bitter song 

That mocked the wholesome human heart; 
And then we met in wrath and wrong, 

We met, but only meant to part. 
Full cold my greeting was and dry ; 

She faintly smiled, she hardly moved ; 
I saw, with half-unconscious eye. 

She wore the colors I approved. 

m. 

She took the little ivory chest- 

With half a sigh she turned the key ; 
Then raised her head with lips comprest^ 

And gave my letters back to me. 
And gave the trinkets and the rings, 

^ly gifts, when gifts of mine could please ; 
As looks a father on the things 

Of his dead son, I looked on these. 



238 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



She told me all her friends Lad said; 

I raged against the public liar. 
She talked as if her love were dead; 

But in my words were seeds of fire. 
" N'o more of love ; your sex is knov?n : 

I never will be twice deceived. 
Henceforth I trust the man alone — 

The woman cannot be believed. 



" Through slander, meanest spawn of hell 

CAnd woman's slander is the worst), 
A.nd you, whom once I loved so well — 

Through you my life will be accurst." 
r spoke with heart, and heat and force, 

I shook her breast with vague alarms — 
Like torrents from a mountain source 

We rushed into each other's arms. 



We parted. Sweetly gleamed the stars, 

And sweet the vapor-braided blue ; 
Low breezes fanned the belfry bars. 

As homeward by the church I drew. 
The very graves appeared to smile, 

So fresh they rose in shadowed swells ; 
** Dark porch," I said, " and silent aisle. 

There comes a sound of marriage bells." 

Alfred Tennyson. 



so:Nr:NrETS. 

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, 
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair ; 
The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
So thou be good, slander doth but approve 
Thy worth the greater, being wooed of time ; 
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love. 
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. 
Thou hast passed by the ambush of young 

days. 
Either not assailed, or victor being charged ; 
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, 
To tie up envy, evermore enlarged. 
If some suspect of ill masked not thy show. 
Then, thou alone kingdoms of hearts 
ehouldst owe. 



So are you to my thoughts, as food to life, 
Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to tht 

ground ; 
And for the peace of you I hold such strife 
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found; 
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon 
Doubting the filching age will steal his treas- 
ure ; 
Now counting best to be with you alone, 
Then bettered that the world may see my 

pleasure ; 
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight., 
And by and by clean starved for a look ; 
Possessing or pursuing no delight, 
Save what is had or must from you be took. 
Thus do I pine and suffer day by day : 
Or gluttoning on all, or all away. 



Farewell! thou art too dear for my possess- 
ing, 

And like enough thou know'st thy estimate; 

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasinf^^ 

My bonds in thee are all determinate. 

For how do I hold thee but by thy grantiijg i 

And for that riches where is my deserving? 

The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 

And so my patent back again is swerving. 

Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not 
knowing. 

Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; 

So thy great gift, upon misprision growing. 

Comes home again, on better judgment mak- 
ing. 
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth 
flatter 

In sleep a king ; but waking no such matter. 



Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; 
Some say thy grace is youtJi, and gentle sport : 
Both grace and faults are loved of more and 

less; 
Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort 
As on the finger of a throned queen 
The basest jewel will be Vv^ell esteemed. 
So are those errors that in thee are seen. 
To truths translated, and for true thin^e 

deemed. 



SONNETS. 



23P 



IIow many lambs might the stern wolf betray, 
If like a lamb he could his looks translate ! 
IIow many gazers might'st thou lead away, 
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy 
state ! 
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort 
As thou being mine, mine is thy good re- 
port. 



How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days 

seen, 
What old December's bareness everywhere ! 
And yet this time removed was summer's 

time; 
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime. 
Like widowed wombs after their lords' de- 
cease ; 
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me 
But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit ; 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee. 
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
Or, if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer, 
That leaves look pale, dreading the win- 
ter 's near. 



Feom you have I been absent in the spring. 
When proud-pied April dressed in all his 

trim. 
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, 
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with 

him. 
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
Of different flowers in odor and in hue. 
Could make me any summer's story tell, 
Or from their proud lap pluck them where 

they grew ; 
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, 
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; 
They are but sweet, but figures of dehght. 
Drawn after you — you pattern of all those. 
Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, 
Af* ^vith yr.ur shadow I with these did play. 



The forward violet thus did I chide : — 
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy 

sweet that smells. 
If not from my love's breath? the purple 

pride 
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion 

dwells. 
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. 
The lily I condemned for thy hand. 
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair; 
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, 
One blushing shame, another white despair ; 
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both, 
And to this robbery had annexed thy breath ; 
But for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, 
But sweet in color it had stolen from thee. 



When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wights. 
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme. 
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; 
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best. 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have expressed 
Even such a beauty as you master now. 
So all their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all you prefiguring ; 
And for they looked but with divining eyes, 
They had not skiU enough your worth to sing ; 

For we, which now behold these present 
days. 

Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to 
praise. 



Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to 

come, 
Can yet the lease of my true love control. 
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. 
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, 
And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; 
Inccrtainties now crown themselves assured, 
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
Now, with the drops of this most biilmy time 



240 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



My love looks fresh, and death to me sub- 
scribes, 
Since, spite of him, I '11 live in this poor rhyme, 
While he insults o'er dull and speechless 
tribes : 
And thou in this shalt find thy monument, 
When tyrants' crests, and tombs of brass 
are spent. 



Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments ; love is not love. 
Which alters when it alteration finds, 
Or bends with the remover to remove. 
Oh no ! it is an ever-fixed mark. 
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
It is the star to every wandering bark. 
Whose worth 's unknown, although his height 

be taken. 
Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and 

cheeks 
Within his bending siclde's compass come ; 
Love alters not with his brief hours and 

weeks 
But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
If this be error, and upon me proved, 
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 



On ! never say that I was false of heart. 
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify. 
As easy might I from myself depart, 
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth 

lie. 
That is my home of love ; if I have ranged, 
Like him that travels, I return again — 
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged ; 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe, though in my nature reigned 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood. 
That it could so preposterously be stained, 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
For nothing this wide universe I call, 
Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 

Shakespeabe. 



SOKN-ETS. 

Come sleep, O sleep ! the certain knot of 
peace. 

The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe; 

The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's re- 
lease, 

The indifferent judge between the high and 
low! 

With shield of proof, shield me from out the 
prease 

Of those fierce darts despair doth at me 
throw. 

Oh make in me those civil wars to cease ; 

I will good tribute pay if thou do so. 

Take thoa of me smooth pillows, sweetest 
bed, 

A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, 

A rosy garland and a weary head ; 

And if these things, as being thine by right^ 

Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me^ 

Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. 



In martial sports I had my cunning tried, 
And yet to break more staves did me ad- 
dress ; 
While with the people's shouts I must confess, 
Youth, luck, and praise eVn filled my veins 

with pride ; 
When Cupid having me, his slave, descried 
In Mars's livery, prancing in the press, 
"What now, Sir Fool?" said he, "I would 

no less ; 
Look here I say." — I looked and Stella spied, 
Who, hard by, made a window send forth 

light; 
My heart then quaked; then dazzled wcrt^ 

mine eyes ; 
One hand forgot to rule, the other to fight; 
Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly 

cries. 
My foe came on and beat the air for me, 
Till that her blush taught me my shame to 

see. 



SONNETS. 



241 



HAPPY Thames that didst my Stella bear ; 

1 saw myself with many a smiling line 
Upon thy cheerful face, joy's livery wear, 
While those fair planets on thy streams did 

shine ; 
The boat for joy could not to dance forbear; 
While wanton winds, with beauties so divine 
Eavished, staid not till in her golden hair 
They did themselves, oh sweetest prison! 

twine ; 
And fain those Eol's youth there would their 

stay 
Have made, but forced by nature still to fly, 
First did with puflSng kiss those locks display. 
She 80 dishevelled, blushed :—- from window I, 
With sight thereof, cried out, oh fair disgrace ! 
Let honor's self to thee grant highest place. 



With how sad steps, Moon thou climb'st 

the skies — 
How silently, and with how wan a face ! 
What! may it be, that even in heavenly 

place 
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ? 
Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes 
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case ; 
I read it in thy looks, thy languished grace ; 
To me that feel the like thy state descries. 
Then even of fellowship, Moon, tell me— 
Is constant love deemed there but want of 

wit? 
Are beauties there as proud as here they be ? 
Do they above love to be loved, and yet 
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth 



Do they call virtue there ungratefulness ? 

Sir Philip Sidney. 



SONI^TET. 

I KNOW that all beneath the moon decays ; 
And what by mortals in this world is brought. 
In time's great periods shall return to nought ; 
That fairest states have fatal nights and days. 
I know that all the muses' heavenly lays. 
With toil of sprite which are so dearly bought, 
35 



As idle sounds, of few or none are sought; 
That there is nothing lighter than vain praise. 
I know frail beauty 's like the purple flower 
To which one morn oft birth and death at 

fords, 
That love a jarring is of mind's accords, 
Where sense and will bring under reasonV 

power : 
Know w^hat I list, this all cannot me move. 
But that, alas ! I both must write and love. 
William Deummond. 



SOOTTET. 

If it be true that any beauteous thing 
Eaises the pure and just desire of man 
From earth to God, the eternal fount of all. 
Such I believe my love ; for as in her 
So fair, in whom I all besides forget, 
I view the gentle work of her creator, 
I have no care for any other thing, 
Whilst thus I love. IsTor is it marvellous^ 
Since the eflect is not of my own power. 
If the soul dotli, by nature tempted forth, 
Enamored through the eyes. 
Repose upon tlie eyes which it resembleth. 
And through them riseth to the Primal Love, 
As to its end, and honors in admiring ; 
For who adores the Maker needs must love 
Ilis work. 

Michael Angelo. (Italixa.) 
Translation of J. E. Taylor. 



TO YITTOPvIA COLONNA. 

Yes ! hope may with my strong desire keep 

pace, 
And I be undcluded, unbetrayed ; 
For if of our affections none find grace 
In sight of heaven, then wherefore hath God 

made 
The world which we inhabit ? Better plea 
Love cannot have, than that in loving thee 
Glory to that Eternal Peace is paid. 
Who such divinity to thee imparts 



i42 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



A.S hallows and makes pure all gentle 

hearts. 
His hope is treacherous only whose love dies 
With beauty, which is varying every hour : 
But in chaste hearts, uninfluenced by the 

power 
Of outward change, there blooms a deathless 

flower. 
That breathes on earth the air of paradise. 
Michael Angelo. (Italian.) 
Translation of William "Woedsworth. 



sokot:ts from the Portuguese. 

[f thou must love me, let it be for nought 
Except for love's sake only. Do not say 
"I love her for her smile, her look, her 

way 
Of speaking gently,— for a trick of thought 
Tliat falls in well with mine, and certes 

brought 
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day." 
For these things in themselves, beloved, may 
Be changed, or change for thee, — and love so 

wrought, 
Maj be unwrought so. Neither love me for 
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks 

dry,— 
A creature might forget to weep, who bore 
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. 
But love me for love's sake, that evermore 
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity. 



I NEVEE gave a lock of hair away 
lo a man dearest, except this to thee. 
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully 
r ring out to the full brown length, and say, 
" Take it ! " My day of youth went yesterday ; 
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee, 
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree, 
As girls do, any more. It only may 
NTow sliade on two pale cheeks the mark of 

tears, 
Tfiuglit drooping from the head that hangs 

aside 



Through sorrow's trick. I thought the fu- 
neral shears 

Would take this first, but love is justified, — 

Take it thou, — finding pure, from all those 
years, 

The kiss my mother left there Avhen she di(.>(I 



Say over again, and yet once over again, 
That thou dost love me. Though the word 

repeated 
Should seem "a cuckoo-song," as thou dost 

treat it. 
Remember, never to the hill or plain. 
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain, 
Comes the fresh spring in all her green com- 
pleted. 
Beloved, I, amid the darkness gi^eeted 
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt'd 

pain 
Cry: "Speak once more — thou lovestl^' 

Who can fear 
Too many stars, though each in heaven thiill 

roll- 
Too many flowers, though each shall cro^vn 

the year? 
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me — 

toll J 

The silver iterance ! — only minding, dear, 
To love me also in silence, with thy soul. 



If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange 
And be all to me ? Shall I never miss 
Home-talk and blessing, and the common kisa 
That comes to each in turn, nor count it 

strange, 
"When I took up, to drop on a new range 
Of walls and floors— another home than 

this? 
Kay, wilt thou fill that place by me which it< 
Filled by dead eyes too tender to knoM' 

change ? 
That 's hardest. If to conquer love has tried, 
To conquer grief tries more, as all things 

prove ; 
For grief indeed is love and grief beside. 
Alas, I have grieved so, I am hard to love. 



PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 



243 



Yet love me — wilt thou ? Open thine heart 

wide, 
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove. 



First time he kissed me, he but only kissed 
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; 
And, ever since, it grew more clean and 

white. 
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its 

^' Hst ! " 
Wlien the angels speak. A ring of amethyst 
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight. 
Than that first kiss. The second passed in 

height 
The first, and sought the forehead, and half 

missed. 
Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed ! 
That was the chrism of love, which love's 

own crown. 
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. 
The third upon my lips was folded down 
In perfect, purple state ; since when, indeed, 
1 have been proud, and said, ^' My love, my 

own ! " 



How do I love thee ? Let me coimt the ways : 
I love thee to the depth, and breadth, and 

height 
My soul can reach, when feeling, out of sight. 
For the ends of being and ideal grace. 
I love thee to the level of every day's 
Most quiet need, by sun and candlehght. 
I love thee freely, as men strive for right ; 
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. 
I love thee with the passion put to use 
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's 

faith. 
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
With my lost saints. I love thee with the 

breath. 
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God 

choose, 
r shaL but love thee better after death. 

Elizabeth Bareett Browning. 



PHILLIDA AND CORYDOlSr. 

In the merine moneth of Maye, 
In a morne by break of daye, 
With a troupe of damsells playing. 
Forth I yode forsooth a-maying ; 

Where anon by a wood side, 
Where as May was in his pride, 
I espied all alone 
Phillida and Corydon. 

Much adoe there was, God wot ; 
He wold love, and she wold not. 
She sayd never man was trewe ; 
He sayes none was false to you. 

He sayde hee had lovde her longe ; 
She sayes love should have no wronga 
Corydon wold kisse her then ; 
She sayes maids must kisse no men, 

Tyll they doe for good and all. 
When she made the shepperde call 
All the heavens to wytnes truthe, 
Never loved a truer youthe. 

Then with many a prettie othe. 
Yea, and naye, and faithe and trothe — 
Such as seelie shepperdes use 
When they wiU not love abuse — 

Love, that had bene long deluded, 
Was with kisses sweete concluded ; 
And Phillida with garlands gaye 
Was made the ladye of the Maye. 

Nicholas Bbstok 



LOYE IS A SICKKESS. 

LoTE is a sickness full of woes, 

All remedies reliising ; 
A plant that most with cutting growe 
Most barren with best using. 
Why so ? 
More wo enjoy it, more it dies ; 
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
Heigh-ho I 



244 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



Love is a torment of the mind, 

A tempest everlasting ; 
And Jove hatli made it of a kind, 
Not well, nor full, nor fasting. 
"Why so ? 
More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
Heigh-ho ! 

Samtiel Daniel. 



THE WHITE EOSE. 

SENT BY A YOEKISH LOVEE TO HIS LANCAS- 
TEIAX MISTEESS. 

If this fair rose offend thy sight, 
Placed in thy hosom hare, 
'T will hlush to find itself less white, 
And turn Lancastrian there. 

But if thy ruhy lip it spy. 
As kiss it thou mayest deign, 
With envy pale 't will lose its dye. 
And Yorkish turn again. 

ANONYllOUe, 



TEIUMPH OF CHAEIS. 

See the chariot at hand here of Love ! 

Wherein my lady rideth ! 
Each that draws is a swan, or a dove. 

And well the car Love guideth. 
As she goes, all hearts do duty 

Unto her heauty. 
And, enamored, do wish, so they might 

But enjoy such a sight. 
That they still were to run hy her side 
Through swords, through seas, whither she 
would ride. 

Do but look on her eyes ! they do light 
All that Love's world compriseth ; 

Do but look on her hair ! it is bright 
As Love's star when it riseth I 

Do but mark — ^her forehead 's smoother 
Than words that soothe her ! 



And from her arched brows such a grace 
Sheds itself through the face. 
As alone there triumphs to the life. 
All the gain, all the good, of the elements 
strife. 

Have you seen but a bright lily grow, 
Before rude hands have touched it ? 
Have you marked but the fall of the snow, 

Before the soil hath smutched it '^ 
Have you felt the wool of the beaver ? 

Or swan's down ever ? 
Or have smelt o' the bud of the brier ? 

Or the nard i' the fire ? 
Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? 
Oh, so white ! oh, so soft ! oh, so sweet is she 

Len JTonson 



AN EAEKEST SUIT 

TO HIS UXKIND MISTEESS NOT TO FOESAKB HIM" 

AxD wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! for shame ! 
To save thee from the blame 
Of all my grief and grame. 
And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath loved thee so long, 
In wealth and woe among ? 
And is thy heart so strong 
As for to leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath given thee my heart, 
Never for to depart, 
Neither for pain nor smart ? 
And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay 1 say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
And have no more pity 
Of him that loveth thee 
Alas ! thy cruelty ! 
And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

Bnj Thomas Wyat 



SONGS. 



24ii 



DISCOURSE WITH CUPID. 

Noblest Charis, you that are 
Both ray fortune and my star ! 
And do govern more my blood, 
Than the various moon the flood ! 
Hear what late discourse of you 
Love and I have had ; and true. 
*Mongst my muses finding me, 
Where he chanced your name to see 
Set, and to this softer strain : 
*' Sure," said he, " if I have brain, 
This here sung can be no other 
By description, but my mother ! 
So hath Homer praised her hair ; 
So Anacreon drawn the air 
Of her face, and made to rise. 
Just about her sparkling eyes, 
Both her brows, bent like my bow. 
By her looks I do her know. 
Which you call my shafts. And see ! 
Such my mother's blushes be. 
As the bath your verse discloses 
In her cheeks of milk and roses ; 
Such as oft I wanton in. 
And above her even chin. 
Have you placed the bank of kisses 
Where, you say, men gather blisses. 
Ripened with a breath more sweet. 
Than when flowers and west winds meet. 
Kay, her white and polished neck. 
With the lace that doth it deck. 
Is my mother's ! hearts of slain 
Lovers, made into a chain ! 
And between each rising breast 
Lies the valley called my nest. 
Where I sit and proyne my wings 
After flight ; and put new strings 
To my shafts ! Her very name, 
With my mother's is the same." 
" I confess all," I replied, 
" And the glass hangs by her side, 
And the girdle 'bout her waist, 
All is Yenus ; save unchaste. 
But, alas I thou seest the least 
Of her good, who is the best 
Of her sex ; but couldst thou. Love, 
Call to mind the forms that strove 
For the apple, and those three 
Alake in one, the same were she. 



For this beauty still doth hide 
Something more than thou hast spied. 
Outward grace weak Love beguiles : 
She is Yenus when she smiles. 
But she's Juno when she walks. 
And Minerva when she talks." 

Ben J0N8ON 



TO CELIA. 

Deink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And I '11 not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine ; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, 

ISTot so much honoring thee. 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not withered be. 
But thou thereon did'st only breathe. 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear, 

I^ot of itself, but thee. 

Philostratus. (Greek.) 
Translation of Ben Jonson. 



CUPID Al^D CAMPASPE. 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 

At cards for kisses — Cupid paid ; 

lie stakes his quiver, bow and arrows. 

His mother's doves, and team of sparrows — 

Loses them too ; then down he throws 

The coral of his lip, the rose 

Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how) ; 

With these the crystal of his brow, 

And then the dimple of his chin ; 

All these did my Campas[)e win. 

At last he set her both his eyes ; 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 

What shall, alas I become of me ? 

JOHX Lyly. 



^46 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



HEAR, YE LADIES. 

Heae, ye ladies that despise 

What the mighty Love hath done ; 

Hear examples, and be wise : 

Fair Calisto was a nun ; 

Leda sailing on the stream, 

To deceive the hopes of man, 

Love accounting hut a dream, 

Doted on a silver swan ; 

Danae in a brazen tower, 

Where no love was, loved a shower. 

Hear, ye ladies that are coy. 

What the mighty Love can do ; 

Hear the fierceness of the boy ; 

The chaste moon he makes to woo. 

Yesta kindling holy fires. 

Circled round about with spies, 

]^ever dreaming loose desires. 

Doting at the altar dies. 

Ilion, in a short hour, higher 

He can once more build and once more 

fire. 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 



SHALL I TELL. 

Shall 1 tell you whom I love ? 

Hearken then a while to me ; 
A.nd if such a woman move 

As 1 now shall versify. 
Be assured 't is she, or none, 
That I love, and love alone. 

iSTature did her so much right 
As she scorns the help of art. 

In as many virtues dight 
As e'er yet embraced a heart. 

So much good so truly tried. 

Some for less were deified. 

Wit she hath, without desire 

To make known how much she hath : 

And her anger flames no higher 
Than may fitly sweeten wrath. 

Full of pity as may be. 

Though perhaps not so to me. 



Reason masters every sense, 
And her virtues grace her birth ; 
Lovely as all excellence. 

Modest in her most of mirth. 
Likelihood enough to prove 
Only worth could kindle love. 

Such she is ; and if you know 

Such a one as I have sung ; 
Be she brown, or fair, or so 

That she be but somewhat young ; 
Be assured 't is she, or none. 
That I love, and love alone. 

William Bbow.s 



BEAUTY CLEAR AND FAIR. 

Beauty clear and fair, 
Where the air 

Rather like a perfume dwells ; 
Where the violet and the rose 
Their blue veins in blush disclose, 

And come to honor nothing else ; 

Where to live near, 

And planted there. 
Is to live, and still live new ; 

Where to gain a favor la 

More than light, perpetual bliss,— 
Make me live by serving you ! 

Dear, again back recall 

To this light 
A stranger to himself and all ; 
Both the wonder and the story 
Shall be yours, and eke the glory ; 
I am your servant, and your thrall. 

Beaumont and FLETcniiL 



SPEAK, LOYEt 

Deaeest, do not delay me, 

Since, thou knowest, I must be gone , 
Wind and tide, 'tis thought, do stay me; 
But 'tis wind that must be blown 
From that breath, whose native smell 
Indian odors far excel. 



SONGS. 



24'; 



Oh, then speak, thou fairest fair ! 

Kill not him that vows to serve thee ; 
But perfume this neighboring air, 
Else dull silence, sure, will starve me ; 
'T is a word that 's quickly spoken, 
Which, being restrained, a heart is broken. 
Beaumont and Fletchee. 



TAKE, OH ! TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY. 

Take, oh ! take those lips away 
That so sweetly were forsworn. 

And those eyes, the break of day, 
Lights that do mislead the morn ! 

But my kisses bring again. 

Seals of love, though sealed in vain. 



Hide, oh ! hide those hills of snow 
Which thy frozen bosom bears, 

On whose tops the pinks that grow 
Are of those that April wears. 

13nl first set my poor heart free. 

Bound in those icy chains by thee. 

Shakespeaee and John Fletoiiek. 



YOU MEANER BEAUTIES 

YoTT meaner beauties of the night, 
That poorly satisfy our eyes 

More by your number than your light- 
You common people of the skies — 
What are you when the moon shall rises 



Yon curious chanters of the wood, 
That warble forth dame nature's lays, 

Thinking your passions understood 
By your weak accents — what's your praise 
When Philomel her voice shall raise ? 



You violets that first appear, 
By your pure purple mantles known, 

Like the proud virgins of the year, 
As if the spring were aU your own — 
What are you when the rose is blown j 



So when my mistress shall be seen 
Li form and beauty of her mind ; 

By virtue first, then choice, a queen — 
Tell me, if she were not designed 
Th' eclipse and glory of her kind ? 

SiE ITeney Wotton 



THE LOYEE TO THE GLOW-WORMS. 

Ye living lamps, by whose dear light 
The nightingale does sit so late. 

And, studying all the summer night, 
Her matchless songs does meditate 1 

Ye country comets, that portend 
No war, nor prince's funeral. 

Shining unto no other end 

Than to presage the grass's fall ! 

Ye glow-worms, whose officious flame 
To wandering mowers shows the way, 

That in the night have lost their aim, 
And after foolish tires do stray ! 

Your courteous lights in vain you waste, 

Since Juliana here is come ; 
For she my mind hath so displaced. 

That I shall never find my home. 

Andeew Maevell. 



MRS. ELIZ. WHEELER, 

UNDEE THE NAME OF THE LOST SHEPnERDEfta 

Among the myrtles as I walkt. 

Love and my sighs thus intertalkt ; 

Tell me, said I, in deep distress, 

Where I may find my shepherdess. 

Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not thisV 

In every thing that 's sweet, she is. 

In yond' carnation go and seek. 

Where thou shalt find her lip and cheek ; 

In that enamelled pansy by, 

There thou shalt have her curious eye ; 

In bloom of peach and rose's bud, 

Tliere waves the streamer of her blood. 

'T is true, said I ; and thereupon, 

I went to pluck them, one by one, 



248 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



To make of parts an union ; 

But on a sudden all were gone. 

At whicli I stopt ; said Love, these be 

The true resemblances of thee ; 

For as these flowers, thy joys must die, 

And in the turning of an eye ; 

And all thy hopes of her must wither, 

Like those short sweets ere knit together. 

Egbert Herrick. 



PAISTGLOEY'S WOOING SONG. 

Love is the biossom where there blows 
Every thing that lives or grows. 
Love doth make the heavens to move. 
And the sun doth burn in love. 
Love the strong and weak doth yoke, 
And makes the ivy climb the oak ; 
Under whose shadows lions wild. 
Softened by love, grow tame and mild. 
Love no med'cine can appease ; 
He burns the fishes in the seas ; 
Not all the skill his wounds can stench ; 
Not all the sea his fire can quench. 
Love did make the bloody spear 
Once a heavy coat to wear ; 
While in his leaves there shrouded lay 
Sweet birds, for love that sing and play ; 
And of all love's joyful flame, 
[ the bud and blossom am. 

Only bend thy knee to me, 
Thy wooing shall thy winning be. 
See, see the flowers that below 
Now as fresh as morning blow ; 
And of all, the virgin rose, 
That as bright Aurora shows — 
How they all unleaved die. 
Losing their virginity ; 
Like unto a summer-shade. 
But now born, and now they fade. 
Every thing doth i)ass away ; 
There is danger in delay. 
Come, come gather then the rose, 
Gather it, or it you lose. 
All the sand of Tagus' shore 
[nto my bosom casis his ore ; 
All the valleys' swimming corn 
To my house is yearly borne ; 



Every grape of every vine 
Is gladly bruised to make me wine ; 
While ten thousand kings, as proud 
To carry up my train, have bowed ; 
And a world of ladies send me, 
In my chambers to attend me. 
All the stars in heaven that shine, 
And ten thousand more are mine. 
Only bend thy knee to me, 
Thy wooing shall thy winning be. 
Giles Fletiiiibb 



CASTAKA. 

Like the violet, which alone 

Prospers in some happy shade, 

My Castara lives unknown, 

To no ruder eye betrayed ; 

For she's to herself untrue 
Who delights i' the public view. 

Such is her beauty as no arts 
Have enriched with borrowed g'*ace. 
Her high birth no pride imparts, 
For she blushes in her place. 

Folly boasts a glorious blood, — 

She is noblest being good. 

Cautious, site knew never yet 

What a wanton courtship meant ; 

Nor speaks loud to boast her wit. 

In her silence, eloquent. 

Of herself survey she takes. 

But 'tween men no difibrenco makes 

She obeys with speedy will 

Her grave parents' wise commands ; 

And so innocent, that ill 

She nor acts, nor understands. 
Women's feet run still astray 
If to ill they know the way. 

She sails by that rock, the court, 
Where oft virtue splits her mast; 
And retiredness thinks the port. 
Where her fame may anchor cast. 
Virtue safely cannot sit 
Where vice is enthroned for wit. 



SONGS. 



249 



She liolds that day's pleasure best 
Where sin waits not on delight ; 
Without mask, or ball, or feast, 
Sweetly spends a winter's night. 

O'er that darkness whence is thrust 
Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust* 

She her throne makes reason climb, 
While wild passions captive lie ; 
And each article of time, 
Her pure thoughts to heaven fly ; 
All her vows religious be, 
And she vows her love to me. 

William Habinoton. 



oa:n^zo]^et. 

The golden sun that brings the day, 
A nd lends men light to see withal. 
In vain doth cast his beams away. 
When they are blind on whom they fall ; 
There is no force in all his light 
To give the mole a perfect sight. 

But thou, my sun, more bright than he 
That shines at noon in summer tide, 
Hast given me light and power to see, 
With perfect skill my sight to guide ; 
Till now 1 lived as blind as mole 
That hides her liead in earthly liole. 

I heard the praise of beauty's grace, 
Yet deemed it nought but poet's skill ; 
I gazed on many a lovely face. 
Yet found I none to bend my will ; 
Which made me think that beauty bright 
Was nothing else but red and white. 

But now thy beams have cleared my sight, 
I blush to think I v^as so blind ; 
Thy flaming eyes afford me light, 
That beauty's blaze each where I find ; 
And yet those dames that shine so bright 
Are but the shadows of thy light. 

Thomas Watson. 



THE NIGHT PIECE. 

TO JULIA. 

Her eyes the glow-worme lend thee, 
The shooting-starres attend thee ; 

And the elves also, 

Whose little eyes glow 
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 

IsTo Will-o'-th '- wdspe mislight thee, 
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee ; 

But on thy way, 

Not making stay, 
Since ghost there 's none t' affright thee ! 

Let not the darke thee cumber ; 

What though the moon does slumber? 
The stars of the night 
Will lend thee their light, 

Like tapers cleare, without number. 

Then, Julia, let me woo thee. 
Thus, thus to come unto me ; 

And when I shall meet 

Thy silvery feet, 
My soule I 'le pour into thee ! 

Egbert Hiiiiiiio^ 



TO LUCASTA, 

ON GOING TO THE WARS. 

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, 

That from the nunnerie 
Of tliy chaste breast and quiet minde, 

To warre and amies I flee. 

True, a new mistresse now I chase — 

The first foe in the field ; 
And with a stronger faith imbrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such. 

As you, too, should adore ; 
I could not love tlioe, doare, so much, 

Loved I not honor more. 

KlCHARD LOV«LACIL 



^50 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



DISDAIN EETURNED. 

He that loves a rosy cheek, 

Or a coral lip admires, 
Or from star-like eyes dotli seek 

Fuel to maintain his fires — 
As okl Time makes these decay, 
So his flames must \Yaste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
Gentle thoughts and calm desires. 

Hearts with equal love combined, 
Kindle never-dying fires. 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes. 

JSTo tears, Celia, now shall win 
My resolved heart to return ; 

I have searched thy soul within, 

And find nought but pride and scorn; 

I have learned thy arts, and now 

Can disdain as much as thou. 

Some power, in my revenge, convey 

That love to her I cast away ! 

Thomas Cakitw'. 



TO ALTHEA— FROM PEISON. 

When Love, with unconfined wings. 

Hovers within my gates. 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at my grates ; 
When I lie tangled in her hair 

And fettered to her eye — 
The birds that wanton in the air 

Know no such liberty. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 
Our careless heads with roses bound. 

Our hearts witli loyal flames ; 
When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 

When healths and draughts go free- 
Fishes, that tipple in the deep. 

Know no such liberty. 



When, like committed linnets I 

With shriUer throat shall sing 
The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 

And glories of my king ; 
When I shall voice aloud how good 

He is, how great should be — 
Enlarged winds, that curl the flooi 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Xor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage. 
If I have freedom in my love, 

And in my soul am free — 
Angels alone, that soar above, 

Enjoy such liberty. 

Richard Lovelaoe. 



TO LUC AST A. 

If to be absent were to be 
Away from thee ; 
Or that, w^hen I am gone. 
You or I were alone ; 
Then, my Lucas ta, might I crave 
Pity from blustering wind or swallow i 
wave. 

But I '11 not sigh one blast or gale 
To swell my sail. 
Or pay a tear to 'suage 
The foaming blue-god's rage ; 
For, whether he will let me pass 
Or no, I 'm still as happy as I was. 

Though seas and lands be 'twixt us botU 
Our faith and troth, 
Like separated souls. 
All time and space controls : 
Above the highest sphere we meet, 
Unseen, unknown ; and greet as angels greet 



So, then, we do anticipate 
Our after-fate, 
And are alive i' th' skies, 
If thus our lips and eyes 
Can speak like spirits unconfined 
In heaven — their earthly bodies left behind 

ElCHARD LOVELAOC 



1 



SONGS. 



251 



SUPERSTITION 

I CARE not, tlioiigli it be 

By the preciser sort thoui^ht popery ; 

We poets can a license show 

For every thing we do. 
Hear, then, my little saint ! I'll pray to thee. 

If now thy happy mind, 

Amidst its various joys, can leisure find 

To attend to any thing so low 

As what I say or do, 
Regard, and be what thou wast ever — kind. 

Let not the blest above 
Engross thee quite, but sometimes hither 
rove; 

Fain would I thy sweet image see, 

And sit and talk with thee ; 
Nor is it curiosity, but love. 

Ah I what delight 'twould be, 
Wouldst thou sometimes, by stealth, converse 
with me ! 

How should I thy sweet commune prize. 

And other joys despise ; 
Come, then, I ne'er was yet denied by thee. 

I would not long detain 
Thy soul from bliss, nor keep thee here in 
pain ; 

Nor should thy fellow-saints e'er know 

Of thy escape below ; 
Before thou 'rt missed, thou shouldst return 



Sure heaven must needs* thy love, 
As well as other qualities, improve ; 

Come, then, and recreate my sight 

With rays of thy pure light ; 
Twill cheer my eyes more than the lamps 
above. 

Hut if fate's so severe 

As to confine thee to thy blissful sphere, 

(And by thy absence I shall know 

AYhether thy state be so,) 
L\ve happy, and be mindful of me there. 

* John Norbis. 



A SONG. 

To thy lover, 

Dear, discover 
That sweet blush of thine, that shametli 

(When those roses 

It discloses) 
All the flowers that nature nameth. 

In free air 

Flow thy hair, 
That no more summer's best dresses 

Be beholden 

For their golden 
Locks, to Phoebus' flaming tresses. 

O deliver 

Love his quiver ! 
From thy eyes he shoots his arrows, 

Where Apollo 

Cannot follow. 
Feathered with his mother's sparrows, 

envy not 

(That we die not) 
Those dear lips, whose door encloses 

All the Graces 

In their places. 
Brother pearls, and sister roses. 

From these treasures 

Of ripe pleasures 
One bright smile to clear tlie weather ; 

Earth and heaven 

Thus made even. 
Both will be good friends together. 

The air does woo thee ; 

Winds cling to thee ; 
Might a word once fly from oat theo, 

Storm and thunder 

Would sit under. 
And keep silence round about tlioe. 

But if nature's 

Common creatures 
So dear glories dare not borrow ; 

Yet tliy beauty 

Owes a duty 
To my loving, lingering sorrow. 



i52 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



When, to end me, 

Death shall send me 
All his terrors to affright me ; 

Thine eyes' graces 

Gild their faces, 
And those terrors shall delight me. 

When, my dying 

Life is flying, 
Those sweet airs that often slew me, 

Shall revive me. 

Or reprieve me. 
And to many deaths renew me. 

RiCHAKD CrASHAW. 



AH, HOW SWEET IT IS TO LOYE. 

Ah, how sweet it is to love ! 

Ah, how gay is young desire ! 

And what pleasing pains we prove 

When we first approach love's fire ! 
Pains of love be sweeter far 
Than all other, pleasures are. 

Sighs, which are from lovers blown. 
Do but gently heave the heart ; 
E'en th^ tears they shed alone. 
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. 

Lovers, when they lose their breath, 

Bleed away in easy death. 

Love and time with reverence use ; 

Treat them like a parting friend, 

Nor the golden gifts refuse 

Which in youth sincere they send ; 
For each year their price is more. 
And they less simple than before. 

Love, like spring-tides, full and high, 

Swells in every youthful vein ; 

But each tide does less supply. 

Till they quite shrink in again ; 
If a flow in age appear, 
T is but rain, and runs not clear. 

John Deydkn. 1 



SONG. 

Ask me no more where Jove bestows, 
When June is past, the fading rose ; 
For, in your beauty's orient deep. 
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep 

Ask me no more whither do stray 
The golden atoms of the day ; 
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare 
Those powders to enrich your hair. 

Ask me no more whither doth haste 
The nightingale when May is past ; 
For in your sweet, dividing throat 
She winters, and keeps warm her note. 

Ask me no more where those stars light 
That downwards fall in dead of night ; 
For in your eyes they sit, and theri> 
Fixed become, as in their sphere. 

Ask me no more if east or west 
The phoenix builds her spicy nest ; 
For unto you at last she flies. 
And in your fragrant bosom dies. 

Thomas Cat.bw. 



PHILOMELA'S ODE 

THAT SHE SUN^G IN HEE AEBOE. 

Sitting by a river's side 
Where a silent stream did glide. 
Muse I did of many things 
That the mind in quiet brings. 
I 'gan think how some men deem 
Gold their god ; and some esteem 
Honor is the chief content 
That to man in life is lent; 
And some others do contend 
Quiet none like to a friend. 
Others hold there is no wealth 
Compared to a perfect health ; 
Some man's mind in quiet stands 
When he 's lord of many lands. 
But I did sigh, and said all this 
Was but a shade of J)erfect bliss : 



1 



SONGS. 



253 



And in my thoughts I did approve 
Nought so sweet as is true love. 
Love 'twixt lovers passeth these, 
When mouth kisseth and heart 'grees — 
With folded arms and lips meeting, 
Each soul another SAveetly greeting ; 
For by the breath the soul fleeteth, 
And soul with soul in kissing meeteth. 
If love be so sweet a thing, 
That such happy bliss doth bring, 
Happy is love's sugared thrall ; 
But unhappy maidens all 
Who esteem your virgin blisses 
Sweeter than a wife's sweet kisses. 
No such quiet to the mind 
As true love with kisses kind ; 
But if a kiss prove unchaste, 
Then is true love quite disgraced. 
Though love be sweet, learn this of me, 
No sweet love but honesty. 

Egbert Greene. 



COME AWAY, DEATH. 

Come away, come away, death, 
And in sad cypress let me be laid ! 

Fly away, fly away, breath : 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 

My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

Oh, prepare it ; 
My part of death no one so true 
Did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 
On my black coflin let there be strown ; 

Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be 
thrown. 
A tliousand, thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, Oh ! where 
6ad true-love never find my grave, 
To weep there. 

SUAKKarilAUlL 



THE TOMB. 

When, cruel fair one, I am slain 

By tliy disdain, 
And, as a trophy of thy scorn, 
To some old tomb am borne, 
Thy fetters must their powers bequeath 
To those of death ; 
Nor can thy flame immortal burn, 
Like monumental fires within an urn : 
Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall 

prove 
There is more liberty in death than love. 

And when forsaken lovers come 

To see my tomb, 
Take heed thou mix not with the crowd, 

And, (as a victor) proud 
To view the spoils thy beauty made, 
Press near my shade ; 

Lest thy too cruel breath or name 
Should fan my ashes back into a flame, 
And thou, devoured by this revengeful fire. 
His sacrifice, who died as thine, expire. 

But if cold earth or marble must 

Conceal my dust, 
Whilst, hid in some dark ruins, I 

Dumb and forgotten lie, 
The pride of all thy victory 

Will sleep with me ; 
And they who should attest thy glory. 
Will or forget or not believe this story. 
Then to increase thy triumph, let me rest, 
Since by thine eye slain, buried in thy breast 

Thomas Stanley 



LOVE NOT ME. 

Love not me for comely grace, 
For my pleasing eye or face, 
Nor for any outAvard part, 
No, nor for my constant heart ; 

For those may fail or turn to ill, 
So thou and I shall sever; 
Keej) therefore a true woman^s eye, 
And love me still, but know not why. 

So hast thou the same reason still 
To doat upon me over. 

iVNONYMOUak 



254 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



THE EXEQUIES. 

DpwAw near 
You lovers, that complain, 
Of fortune or disdain, 
And to my ashes lend a tear ! 
Melt the hard marhle with your groans, 
And soften the relentless stones. 
Whose cold embraces the sad subject hide 
Of all love's cruelties, and beauty's pride ! 

No verse, 
'N'o epicedium bring ; 
Xor peaceful requiem sing. 
To charm the terrors of my hearse ! 
1^0 profane numbers must flow near 
The sacred silence that dwells here. 
Vast griefs are dumb ; softly, oh softly 

mourn ! 
Lest you disturb the peace attends my urn. 

Yet strew 
Upon my dismal grave 
Such offerings as you have — 
Forsaken cypress, and sad yew ; 
For kinder flowers can take no birth 
Or growth from such unhappy earth. 
Weep only o'er my dust, and say, " Here lies 
To love and fate an equal sacrifice." 

Thomas Stanley. 



A gown made of the finesi wool, 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
Fair-lined slippers for the cold, 
With buckles of the purest gold ; 

A belt of straw, and ivy buds. 
With coral clasps and amber studs ; 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Come live with me, and be my love. 

The shepherd swains shall dance and siu2, 
For thy delight each May morning : 
If these delights thy mind may move. 
Then live with me, and be my love. 

Christopher Maklowk. 



m 



THE MILK-MAID'S SOI^TG. 

THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 

Gome live with me, and be my love. 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, 
Woods or steepy mountains yields. 

There will we sit upon the rocks. 
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks 
By shallow rivers to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee beds of roses 
With a thousand fragrant posies ; 
A. cap of flowers, and a kirtle, 
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. 



THE MILK-MAID'S MOTHEK'S ANSWER 
the nymph's eeply. 

If that the world and love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
These pretty pleasures might me move 
To live with thee and be thy love. .1 

But time drives flocks from field to fold, 
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold ; 
And Philomel becometh dumb, 
And all complain of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
To wayward winter reckoning yields ; 
A honey tongue, a heart of gall. 
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 



Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies 
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten— 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, 
Thy coral clasps and amber studs — 
All these in me no means can move 
To come to thee, and be thy love. 

But could youth last, and love still breed. 
Had joys no date, nor age no need. 
Then those delights my mind might move 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 

Sir Walter Bai^kiqil 



1 



MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE. 



^57 



MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE. 

PAilT FIRST. 

My dear and only love, I pray, 

This noble world of thee 
Be governed by no other sway 

But purest monarchie. 
For if confusion have a part, 

Which virtuous souls abhor e, 
And hold a synod in thy heart, 

I '11 never love thee more. 

Like Alexander I will reign, ] 

And I will reign alone, j 

My thoughts shall evermore disdain I 

A rival on my throne. 
He either fears his fate too much, 

Or his deserts are small, 
That puts it not unto the touch, 

To win or lose it all. 

But I must rule and govern still 

And always give the law. 
And have each subject at my will, 

And all to stand in awe. 
But 'gainst my battery if I find 

Thou shun'st the prize so sore 
As that thou set'st me up a blind, 

I ']1 never love thee more. 

If in the empire of thy heart, 

Where I should solely be. 
Another do pretend a part, 

And dares to vie with me ; 
Or if committees thou erect, 

And go on such a score, 
I '11 sing and laugh at thy neglect, 

And never love thee more. 



But if thou wilt be constant then, 

And faithful of thy word, 
I '11 make thee glorious by my pen, 

And famous by my sword. 
I '11 serve tJiee in such noble ways 

Was never heard before ; 
f '11 crown and deck thee all with bays. 

And love thee evermore. 

PART SECOND. 

My dear and only love, take heed, 
Lest thou thyself expose, 



And let all longiog lovers feed 

Upon such looks as those. 
A marble wall then build about, 

Beset without a door ; 
But if thou let thy heart fly out, 

I '11 never love thee more. 

Let not their oaths, like volleys shot, 

Make any breach at aU ; 
Nor smoothness of their language plot 

Wiiich way to scale the wall ; 
Nor balls of wild-fire love consume 

The shrine which I adore ; 
For if such smoke about thee fume, 

I '11 never love thee more. 

I think thy virtues be too strong 

To suffer by surprise ; 
Those victualled by my love so long, 

The siege at length must rise. 
And leave thee ruled in that health 

And state thou wast before ; 
But if thou turn a commonwealth, 

I 'U never love thee more. 

Or if by fraud, or by consent. 

Thy heart to mine come, 
I '11 sound no trumpet as I wont. 

Nor march by tuck of drum ; 
But hold my arms, like ensigns, up^ 

Thy falsehood to deplore. 
And bitterly will sigh and weep. 

And never love thee more. 

I '11 do with thee as Nero did 

When Rome was set on fire, 
N'ot only all relief forbid. 

But to a hill retire. 
And scorn to shed a tear to sec 

Thy spirit grown so poor; 
But smiling sing, until I die, 

I'll never love thee more. 

Yet, for the love I bare thee onoO; 

Lest that thy name should die, 
A monument of marble-stone 

The truth shall testifie ; 
That every pilgrim passing by 

May pity and deplore 
My case, and read the reason wliy 

I con love thee no more. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



The golden laws of love shall be 

Upon this pillar hung, — 
A simple heart, a single eye, 

A true and constant tongue ; 
Let no man for more love pretend 

Than he has hearts in store ; 
True love begun shall never end ; 

Love one and love no more. 

Then shall thy heart be set by mine. 

But in far different case ; 
For mine was true, so was not thine, 

JBut lookt like Janus' face. 
For as the waves with every wind, 

So sail'st thou every shore. 
And leav'st my constant heart behind, — 

How can I love thee more ? 

My heart shall with the sun be fixed 

For constancy most strange, 
And thine shall with the moon be mixed. 

Delighting ay in change. 
Thy beauty shined at first more bright, 

And woe is me therefore, 
Tliat ever I found thy love so light 

I could love thee no more ! 

The misty mountains, smoking lakes, 

The rocks' resounding echo. 
The whistling wind that murmur makes, 

Shall with me sing hey ho ! 
The tossing seas, the tumbling boats. 

Tears dropping from each shore, 
Shall tune with me their turtle notes — 

I '11 never love thee more. 

As doth the turtle, chaste and true, 

Her fellow's death regrete, 
And daily mourns for his adieu, 

And ne'er renews her mate ; 
So, though thy faith was never fast, 

Which grieves me wondrous sore, 
Yet I shall live in love so chast. 

That I shall love no more. 

And when all gallants ride about 

These monuments to view, 
Whereon is written, in and out. 

Thou traitorous and untrue ; 
Then in a passion they shall pause, 

And thus say, sighing sore, 



" Alas ! he had too just a cause 
Never to love thee more." 

And when that tracing goddess Fame 

From east to west shall flee, 
She shall record it, to thy shame. 

How thou hast loved me ; 
And how in odds our love was such 

As few have been before ; 
Thou loved too many, and I too much, 

So I can love no more. 

James Graham, Marqfxs op Montsobb 



WELCOME, WELCOME. 

Welcome, welcome, do I sing^ 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 
He that parteth from you neter^ 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love that to the voice is near. 

Breaking from your ivory pale, 
ISTeed not walk abroad to hear 
The delightful nightingale. 

Welcome, welcome, then I sing. 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 
He that parteth from you never, 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love, that still looks on your eyes, 

Though the winter have begun 
To benumb our arteries. 

Shall not want the summer's sun. 
Welcome, welcome, then I sing, 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 
Se that parteth from you never. 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love, that still may see your cheeks, 

Where all rareness still reposes, 
Is a fool if e'er he seeks 
Other lilies, other roses. 

Welcome, tcelcome, then I sing. 
Far more welcome than the spring; 
He that parteth from you never^ 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love, to whom your soft lip yields. 
And perceives your breath in kissing, 

All the odors of the fields 

Never, never shall be missing. 



LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. 



257 



Welcome^ welcome, then I sing. 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 
He that parteth from you never ^ 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love, that question would anew 

What fair Eden was of old, 
Txit him rightly study you, 
And a brief of that behold. 
Welcome^ welcome^ then I sing^ 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 
He that pa/rteth from you never, 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever, 

William Browne. 



BLEST AS THE IMMORTAL GODS. 

Blest as the immortal gods is he. 
The youth who fondly sits by thee, 
And hears and sees thee all the while 
Softly speak, and sweetly smile. 

'T was this deprived my soul of rest. 
And raised such tumults in my breast : 
For while I gazed, in transport tost, 
My breath was gone, my voice was lost 

My bosom glowed ; the subtle flame 
Ran quick through all my vital frame : 
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ; 
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 

In dewy damps my limbs were chilled ; 

My blood with gentle horrors thrilled : 

My feeble pulse forgot to play — 

I fainted, sunk, and died away. 

Sappho. (Greek.) 
rranBlation of Ambeose Phillips. 



KULNASATZ, MY REINDEER. 

A LAPLAND SONG. 

KuLNASATZ, my reindeer, 
We have a long journey to go ; 
The moors are vast. 
And we must haste. 
Our strength, I fear. 
Will fail, if we are slow ; 
And so 
Our songs will do. 
87 



Kaigd, the watery moor, 
Is pleasant unto me, 
Though long it be, 
Since it doth to my mistress lead, 
Whom I adore ; 
The Kilwa moor 
I ne'er again will tread. 

Thoughts filled my mind, 
Whilst I through Kaig^ passed 
Swifb as the wind. 
And my desire 
Winged with impatient fire ; 
My reindeer, let us haste ! 

So shall we quickly end our pleasing pain — 

Behold my mistress there. 
With decent motion walking o'er the plain.- 

Kulnasatz, my reindeer, 

Look yonder, where 
She washes in the lake ! 

See, while she swims, 

The water from her purer limbs 

New clearness take ! 

Anonymous. 



LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. 

I ARISE from dreams of thee 
In the first sweet sleep of night, 
When the winds are breathing low, 
And the stars are shining bright 
I arise from dreams of thee, 
And a spirit in my feet 
Has led me — who knows how ? 
To thy chamber window, sweet J 

The wandering airs, they faint 
On the dark and silent stream — 
The champak odors fail 
Like sweet thoughts in a dream • 
The nightingale's complaint, 
It dies upon her heart. 
As I must on thine, 
Beloved as thou art I 

Oh, lift me from the grass I 
I die, I faint, I fail I 
Let thy love in kisses rain 
On my lips and eyelids pole. 



i68 



ruEMS OF LOYE. 



Mj cheek is cold and white, alas I 
My heart beats loud and fast ; 
Oh ! press it close to thine again, 
Where it will break at last. 

Percy Byssue Shelley. 



MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART. 

Zf5?7 fiov^ adg ayaiTG). 

Maid of Athens, ere we part, 
Give, oh, give me back my heart ! 
Or, since that has left my breast, 
Keep it now, and take the rest ! 
Hear my vow before I go, 
Zw?7 jLLOVj (Tag ayaTTO). 

By those tresses nnconfined, 
Wooed by each ^gean wind ; 
By those lids whose jetty fringe 
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ; 
By those wild eyes like the roe, 
Zw?/ fioVj adg dyaTTO), 

By that lip I long to taste ; 
By that zone-encircled waist; 
By all the token-flowers that tell 
What words can never speak so well ; 
By love's alternate joy and woe, 
Z67J fJLOv^ cdg dyaiTG). 

Maid of Athens ! I am gone — 

Think of me, sweet, when alone. 

Though I fly to Istambol, 

Athens holds my heart and soul. 

Can I cease to love thee ? No! 

Zwt; uoVj adg dyai^id. 

Lord Byron. 



Forgive me if I cannot turn away 

From those sweet eyes that are my earthly 

heaven, 
For they are guiding stars, benignly given 
To tempt my footsteps to the upward way ; 
And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight, 
I live and love in God's peculiar light. 

Michael Angelo. (Italian) 
Translation of J. E. Taylor. 



SOCKET. 

The might of one fair face subhmes my love, 
For it hath weaned my heart from low de- 
sires ; 
Nor death I heed, nor purgatorial fires. 
Thy beauty, antepast of joys above, 
Instructs me in the bliss that saints approve ; 
For oh ! how good, how beautiful, must be 
The God that made so good a thing as thee, 
So fair au image of the heavenly Dove. 



LOVE'S PHH^OSOPHY. 

The fountains mingle with the river, 

And the rivers with the ocean ; 
The winds of heaven mix for ever, 

With a sweet emotion ; 
Nothing in the world is single ; 

All things by a law divine 
In one another's being mingle^ — 

Why not I with thine ? 

See the mountains kiss high heaven, 

And the waves clasp one another ; 
No sister flower would be forgiven 

If it disdained its brother ; 
And the sunlight clasps the earth. 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea;- 
What are all these kissings worth, 

K thou kiss not me ? 

Percy Bysshb Sitsllev 



I 



to- 



One word is too often profaned 

For me to profane it, 
One feeling too falsely disdained 

For thee to disdain it. 
One hope is too like despair 

For prudence to smother. 
And pity from thee more dear 

Than that from another. 

I can give not what men caU lovo , 

But wilt thou accept not 
The worship the heart lifts above 

And the heavens reject not: 
The desire of the moth for the star, 

Of the night for the morrow. 
The devotion to something afar 

From the sphere of our sorrow ? 

Percy Bysshk Bhellbv. 



ij 



SOXGS. 



25y 



THE GIRL OF CADIZ. 



Ou, never talk again to me 

Of northern climes and British ladies ; 
rt has not been your lot to see 

Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz. 
A.1 though her eyes be not of blue, 

Kor fair her locks, like English lasses'. 
How far its own expressive hue 

The languid azure eye surpasses ! 

II. 
Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole 

The fire that through those silken lashes 
In darkest glances seems to roll, 

From eyes that cannot hide their flashes ; 
And as along her bosom steal 

In lengthened flow her raven tresses. 
You 'd swear each clustering lock could feel, 

And curled to give her neck caresses. 

III. 
Our English maids are long to woo. 

And frigid even in possession ; 
And if their charms be fair to view. 

Their lips are slow at love's confession ; 
Put, born beneath a brighter sun. 

For love ordained the Spanish maid is. 
And who, — when fondly, fairly won, — 

Enchants you like the girl of Cadiz ? 

IV. 

The Spanish maid is no coquette, 

ISTor joys to see a lover tremble ; 
And if she love, or if she hate, 

Alike she knows not to dissemble. 
Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold — 

Ilowe'er it beats, it beats sincerely ; 
And, though it will not bend to gold, 

'T will love you long, and love you dearly. 



The Spanish girl that meets your love 

JTe'er taunts you with a mock denial ; 
For every thought is bent to prove 

Her passion in the hour of trial. 
When thronging foemen menace Spain 

Srlie dares the deed and shares the danger : 
\nd should her lover press the plain. 

She hurls the spear, her love's avenger. 



VI. 

And when, beneath the evening star, 
She mingles in the gay bolero ; 

Or sings to her attuned guitar 

- Of Christian knight or Moorish hero ; 

Or counts her beads with fairy hand 
Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper ; 

Or joins devotion's choral band 

To chant the sweet and hallowed vesper : 

VII. 

In each her charms the heart must move 

Of all who venture to behold her. 
Then let not maids less fair reprove. 

Because her bosom is not colder ; 
Through many a clime 't is mine to roam 

Where many a soft and melting maid is, 
But none abroad, and few at home, 

May match the dark-eyed girl of Cadiz. 

LoKD Bybon 



SONG. 



The heath this night nmst be my bed, 
The bracken curtain for my head. 
My lullaby the warder's tread, 

Far, far from love and thee, Mary ; 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, 
My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
My vesper song thy wail, sw^eet maid ! 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 

I may not, dare not, fancy now 

The grief that clouds thy lovely brow ; 

I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And all it promised me, Mary. 
N'o fond regret must Norman kn(#w : 
When bursts Chin- Alpine on the fot, 
His heart must be like bended bow, 

His foot like arrow free, Mary. 

A time will come with feeling fraught! 
For, if I fall in battle fought, 
Tliy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary ! 
And if returned from conquered foes, 
How blithely will the evening close, 
How sweet the linnet sing repose 

To my young bride and me, Mary I 

Sib Waltke JiIcoti 



260 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



STANZAS FOE MUSIC. 

Theee be none of beauty's daughters 

With a magic like thee ; 
And like music on the waters 

Is thy sweet voice to me: 
When, as if its sound were causing 
The charmed ocean's pausing, 
The waves lie still and gleaming, 
And the lulled winds seem dreaming. 

And the midnight moon is wearing 
Her bright chain o'er the deep, 

Whose breast is gently heaving. 
As an infant's asleep ; 

So the spirit bows before thee, 

To listen and adore thee 

With a full but soft emotion. 

Like the swell of summer's ocean. 

Lord Byeon. 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO'E 
DEAR. 

Were 's a health to ane I lo^e dear^ 

Were '5 a health to ane I We dear ; 

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers 

meet, 
And soft as the parting tear — Jessy / 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied, 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing 

Than aught in the world beside — Jessy ! 

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms ; 

But welcome the dream 0' sweet slumber. 
For then I am locked in thy arms — Jessy! 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 

I guess by the love-rolling ee ; 
But why urge the tender confession 

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy ! 
ffere '« a health to ane I We dear, 
Here '« a health to ane I We dear ; 
T'hoxi art sweet as the smile when fond lovers 

meet, 
And soft as the parting tear — Jessj/ ! 

EOBERT BlTRNS. 



OA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. 

Cd^ the yowes to the Icnowes, 
Go! them where the heather grows^ 
Go' them where the lurnie roics, 
My honnie dearie. 

Hark the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang; 
Then a faulding let us gang. 
My bonnie dearie. 

We '11 gae down by Clouden side, 

Thro' the hazels spreading wide. 

O'er the waves that sweetly glide 

To the moon sae clearly. 

Yonder Clouden's silent towers. 
Where at moonshine, midnight hours, 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou 'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
Noclit of ill may come thee near, 
My bonnie dearie. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown my very heart ; 
I can die — but canna part. 
My bonnie dearie. 

While waters wimple to the sea. 
While day blinks in the lift sae hie, 
TiU clay-cauld death shall blm' my ee, 
Ye shall be my dearie. 

Ga^ the ybwes to the Tcnowes, 
Go) them where the heather grows. 
Go* them where the 'buimie rows, 
My bonnie dearie, 

Egbert BusNa. 



FAREWELL TO KAKCY. 

Ae fond kiss and then we sever ! 
Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever ! 
Deep in heart- wrung tears I '11 pledge thee ; 
Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle hghts me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 



I 



THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 



201 



I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy — 
N'aetMng could resist my INT ancy : 
But to see lier was to love her, 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never loved sae kindly, 
Had we never loved sae blindly, 
N"ever met — or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fai*e thee weel, thou first and fairest! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace^ enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 
Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever ! 
Deep in heart- wrung tears I '11 pledge thee; 
^Varring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. 

EOBEET BlTBNB. 



OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN 
BLAW. 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west ; 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best. 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And monie a hill 's between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air ; 
There 's not a bonnie flpwer that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green — 
There 's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me of my Jean. 

EOBEBT BUENS. 



A RED, RED ROSE. 

Oh, my luve's like a red, red rose. 
That 's newly sprung in June ; 

Oh, my luve 's like the melodie 
That 's sweetly played in tune. 

As fair ai't thon, my bonnie lass, 
So deep in luve am I ; 



And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
Till a' the seas gang dry — 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my deai\ 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun; 

I will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands of life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel a while ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

Egbert BotNt* 



THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 

'T WAS even — the dewy fields were greeii. 

On every blade the pearls did hang; 
The zephyr wantoned round the bean 

And bore its fragrant sweets along ; 
In every glen the mavis sang, 

All nature listening seemed the while. 
Except where green-wood echoes rang 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward strayed ; 

My heart rejoiced in nature's joy ; 
Whfcn musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanced to spy. 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like nature's vernal smile ; 
Perfection whispered, passing by. 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in autumn mild, 
When roving thro' the gai'den ga;y. 

Or wandering in a lonely wild ; 
But woman, nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile 
Ev'n there her other works are foiled 

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Oh, had she been a country maid. 

And I tho happy country swain, 
Tho' sheltered in tho lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plam I 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil , 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmylc. 



2G2 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



Then pride might climb the slippery steep 

Where fame and honors lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downvfard seek the Indian mine. 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks or till the soil, 
And every day have joys divine 

With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Egbert Bfbns. 



ADDEESS TO A LADY. 

Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea ; 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I 'd shelter thee, I 'd shelter thee : 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom. 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and bare, 
The desert were a paradise 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign ; 
The brightest jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 

EOBEET BtTENS. 



AOTTIE LAUEIE. 

Maxwelton braes are bonnie 
Where early fa's the dew, 
And it 's there that Annie Laurie 
Gie'd me her promise true ; 
Gie'd me her promise true, 
Which ne'er forgot will be ; 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I 'd lay me doune and dee. 

Her brow is hke the snaw drift ; 
Her throat is like the swan ; 
Her face it is the fairest 
That e'er the sun shone on — 
That e'er the sun shone on — 
And dark blue is her ee; 



And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I 'd lay me doune and dee. 

Like dew on the gowan lying 

Is the fa' o' her fairy feet ; 

And like the winds in summer sighing, 

Her voice is low and sweet — 

Her voice is low and sweet — 

And she 's a' the world to me ; 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie 

I 'd lay me doune and dee. 

ANONYMOITb. 



THOU HAST YOWED BY THY FAITH 
MY JEAKIE. 



Thou hast vowed by thy faith, my Jeanie, 

By that pretty white hand o' thine, 
And by all the lowing stars in heaven. 

That thou wad aye be mine ! 
And I have sworn by my faith, my Jeanie, 

And by that kind heart o' thine, 
By all the stars sown thick o'er heaven, 

That thou shalt aye be mine ! 

Then foul fa' the hands wad loose sic bands, 

And the heart wad part sic love ; 
But there 's nae hand can loose the band, 

But the finger of Him above. 
Tho' the wee, wee cot maun be my bield, 

An' my clothing e'er so mean, 
1 should lap up rich in the faulds of love, 

Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean. 

Her white arm wad be a piUow to me, 

Far softer than the down ; 
And Love wad winnow o'er us, his kind* 
kind wings. 

And sweetly we 'd sleep, an' soun'. 
Come here to me, thou lass whom I love, 

Come here and kneel wi' me ; 
The morn is fall of the presence of God, 

And I canna pray but thee. 

The morn-wind is sweet amang the nev» 
flowers. 

The wee birds sing saft on the tree ; 
Our gudeman sits in the bonnie sunrhine. 

And a blithe auld bodie is he. 



y 



FAIR INES. 



233 



The beuk maun be ta'en whan he comes 
hame, 
Wi' the holy psalmodie ; 
And I will speak of thee whan I pray, 
And thou maun speak of me. 

Allan Cunningham. 



OH, SAW YE THE LASS. 

Oh saw ye the lass wi' the bonny blue een ? 
Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen ; 
Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher, I ween ; 
She 's the loveliest lassie that trips on the 

green. 
The home of my love is below in the valley, 
Where wild flowers welcome the wandering 

bee; 
But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that 

is seen 
Is the maid that I love wi' the bonny blue een, 

Wher iiight overshadows her cot in the glen, 
Shu '11 steal out to meet her loved Donald 

again ; 
And when the moon shines on the valley so 

green, 
I '11 welcome the lass wi' the bonny blue een. 
As the dove that has wandered away from 

his nest. 
Returns to the mate his fond heart loves the 

best, 
I '11 fly from the world's false and vanishing 

scene, 
To my dear one, the lass wi' the bonny blue 

een. 

EiCHAED Ryan. 



BONNIE leslh:. 

Oh saw ye bonnie Leslie 
As she gaed o'er the border ? 

She 's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests further. 

Tc see her is to love her. 
And love but her for ever ; 

For nature made her wliat she is, 
And ne'er made sic anither. 



Thou art a queen, fair Leslie — 
Thy subjects we, before thee ; 

Thou art divine, fair Leslie— 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The deil he could na scaith thee, 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 

He 'd look into thy bonnie face. 
And say, "I cannawrang thee." 

The powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha'na steer thee ; 
Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee. 

Eeturn again, fair Leslie ! 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There 's nane again sae bonnie. 

EOBEKT BUIi^& 



FAIR INES. 



Oh saw ye not fair Ines ? 

She 's gone into the west, 

To dazzle when the sun is down, 

And rob the world of rest ; 

She took our dayhght with her, 

The smiles that we love best, 

With morning blushes on her cheek, 

And pearls upon her breast. 



Oh turn again, fair Ines. 

Before the fall of night, 

For fear the moon should shine alone, 

And stars unrivalled bright; 

And blessed will the iover be 

That walks beneath their light. 

And breathes the love against thy cheek 

I dare not even write 1 

111. 

Would I had been, fair lues, 
That gallant cavalier 
Who rode so gayly by thy side, 
And whispered thee so near ! — 



.i04 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



Were there no bonny dames at home, 
Or no true lovers here, 
That he should cross the seas to win 
The dearest of the dear 2 



1 saw thee, lovely Ines, 

Descend along the shore, 

With bands of noble gentlemen. 

And banners waved before ; 

And gentle youth and maidens gay. 

And snowy plumes they wore ; — 

It would have been a beauteous dream, 

— If it had been no more ! 



Alas ! alas ! fair Ines ! 

She went away with song. 

With music waiting on her steps. 

And shoutings of the throng ; 

But some were sad, and felt no L.irth, 

But only music's wrong, 

In sounds that sang Farewell, farewell ! 

To her you 've loved so long. 

VI. 

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines ! 

That vessel never bore 

So fair a lady on its deck, 

I^or danced so light before — 

Alas for pleasure on the sea, 

And sorrow on the shore ! 

The smile that blest one lover's heart 

Haa broken many more ! 

Thomas Hood. 



GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE! 

Go where glory waits thee ; 
But, while fame elates thee. 

Oh still remember me ! 
When the praise thou meetest 
To thine ear is sweetest, 

Oh then remember me ! 
Other arms may press thee, 
Dearer friends caress thee — 
All the joys that bless thee 

Sweeter far may be ; 
But when friends are nearest, 
And when joys are dearest, 

Oh then remember rr,i 1 



When, at eve, thou roveet 
By the star thou lovest. 

Oh then remember me ! 
Think, when home returning. 
Bright we 've seen it burning, 

Oh thus remember me 1 
Oft as summer closes, 
When thine eye reposes 
On its lingering roses, 

Once so loved by thee. 
Think of her who wove them, 
Her who made thee love them : 

Oh then remember me ' 

When, around thee dying. 
Autumn leaves are lying. 

Oh then remember me ! 
And, at night, when gazing 
On the gay hearth blazing. 

Oh still remember me ! 
Then should music, stealing 
All the soul of feeling. 
To thy heart appealing, 

Draw one tear from thee — 
Then let memory bring thee 
Strains I used to sing thee ; 

Oh then remember me ! 



Thomas Moose. 



FLY TO THE DESERT. 

Fly to the desert, fly with me — 

Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 

But, oh ! the choice what heart can doubt 

Of tents with love, or thrones without ? 

Our rocks are rough ; but smiHng there 
The acacia waves her yellow hair — 
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 
For flowering in a wilderness. 

Our sands are bare ; but down their slope- 
The silvery-footed antelope 
As gracefully and gayly springs 
As o'er the marble courts of kings. 

Then come — thy Arab m.aid will be 
The loved and lone acacia-tree — 
The antelope, whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loveliness. 



LOVELY MARY DONNELLY. 



2C6 



Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart 
An instant sunshine through the heart — 
As if the soul that minute caught 
Some treasure it through life had sought ; 

As if the very lips and eyes 
Predestined to have all our sighs, 
And never be forgot again, 
Sparkled and spoke before us then ! 

So came thy every glance and tone, 
When first on me they breathed and shone; 
New as if brought from other spheres, 
Yet welcome as if loved for years. 

Then fly with me, — if thou hast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn 
Should ever in thy heart be worn ; 

Come, if the love thou hast for me 
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee — 
Fresh as the fountain under ground, 
When first 't is by the lapwing found. 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
Her worshipped image from its base, 
To give to me the ruined place — 

Then, fare thee well ; I Vl rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Tlian trust to love so false as thine ! 

Thomas Mooee. 



^ 



LOVELY MARY DONNELLY. 

(), Lovr.LY Mary Donnelly, it 's you I love 

the best ! 
If fifty girls were around you, I 'd hardly see 

the rest ; 
Be what it may the time of day, the place be 

where it will. 
Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom 

before me still. 

Her eyes like moun^^in water that 's flowing 

on a rock, 
FTow clear they are, how dark they are ! and 

they give me many a shock ; 



Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted 

with a shower, 
Could ne'er express the charming lip that 

has me in its power. 

Her nose is straight and handsome, her eye 
brows lifted up, 

Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth 
like a china cup ; 

Her hair 's the brag of Ireland, so weighty 
and so fine — 

It 's rolling down upon her neck, and gath- 
ered in a twine. 

The dance o' last Whit Monday night exceed- 
ed all before — 

No pretty girl for miles around was missing 
from the floor ; 

But Mary kept the belt of love, and oh ! but 
she was gay; 

She danced a jig, she sung a song, and took 
my heart away ! 

When she stood up for .dancing, her steps 

were so complete. 
The music nearly killed itself, to listen to her 

feet; 
The fiddler mourned his blindness, he heard 

her so much praised ; 
But blessed himself he wasn't deaf when 

once her voice she raised. 

And evermore I 'm whisthug or lilting what 

you sung ; 
Your smile is always in my heart, your name 

beside my tongue. 
But you Ve as many sweethearts as you 'd 

count on both your hands, 
And for myself there 's not a thumb or little 

finger stands. 

Oh, you 're the flower of womankind, in coun- 
try or in town ; 

The higher I exalt you, the lower I 'm cast 
down. 

If some great lord should come this way and 
see your beauty bright, 

And you to be his lady, I 'd own it was but 
right. 



i66 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Oh, might we live together in lofty palace 

hall 
Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet 

curtains fall ; 
Oh, might we live together in a cottage mean 

and small, 
With sods of grass the only roof, and mud 

the only wall ! 

0, lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty 's my 

distress — 
It's far too beauteous to be mine, but I'll 

never wish it less ; 
The proudest place would fit your face, and 

I am poor and low, 

But blessings be about you, dear, wherever 

vou may go ! 

William Allingham. 



JlN IRISH MELODY. 

"Ah, sweet Kitty 'Neil I rise up from your 
wheel — 
Your neat little foot will be weary from 
spinning ; 
Come, trip down with me to the sycamore 
tree; 
Half the parish is there, and the dance is 
beginning. 
The sun is gone down ; but the fuU harvest 
moon 
Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whit- 
ened valley ; 
While all the air rings with the soft, loving 
things 
Each little bird sings in the green shaded 
alley." 

With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the 
while. 
Her eye in the glass, as she bound her 
hair, glancing; 
Tis hard to refuse when a young lover 
sues, 
So she could n't but choose to — go off to 
the dancing. 
\nd now on the green the glad groups are 
seen — 
Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his 
cl loosing ; 



And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty 
Neil— 
Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er thought 
of refusing. 

Now Felix Magee puts his pipes to hii? 
knee, 
And, with flourish so free, sets each couple 
in motion ; 
With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter 
the ground — 
The maids move around just like swans on 
the ocean. 
Cheeks bright as the rose — feet light as the 
doe's — 
Now cozily retiring, now boldly advanc- 

Search the world all around from the sky to 
the ground, 

No such sight can be found as an Irish lass 
dancing ! 

Sweet Kate! who could view your bright 
eyes of deep blue. 
Beaming humidly through their dark lashee 
so mildly — 
Your fair-turned arm, heaving breast, round- 
ed form — 
Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses 
throb wildly? 
Poor Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, de- 
part. 
Subdued by the smart of such painful jet 
sweet love ; 
The sight leaves his eye as he cries with a 
sigh, 
"Dance light, for my heart it lies under 
your feet, love! " 

Denis Florence M^CARruY 



SONG. 

Love me if I live I 

Love me if I die I 
What to me is life or death, 

So that thou be nigh ? 

Once I loved thee rich. 
Now I love thee poor ; 

Ah ! what is there I could not 
For thy sake endui'e? 



THE WELCOME. 



26^ 



Kiss me for my love ! 

Paj me for my pain ! 
Oome I and murmur in my ear 

How thou lov'st again ! 

Barey Cornwall. 



WERE I BUT HIS 0W:N" WIFE. 

Were I but his own wife, to guard and to 
guide him, 
'Tis httle of sorrow should fall on my 
dear; 
I 'd chant my low love verses, stealing beside 
him, 
So faint and so tender his heart would but 
hear; 
I 'd pull the wild blossoms from valley and 
highland ; 
And there at his feet I would lay them all 
down; 
I 'd sing him the songs of our poor stricken 
island, 
Till his heart was on fire with a love like 
my own. 

There 's a rose by his dwelling — I 'd tend the 
lone treasure. 
That he might have liowers when the 
summer would come ; 
There 's a harp in his hall — I would wake its 
sweet measure, 
For he must have music to brighten his 
home. 
Were I but his own wife, to guide and to 
guard him, 
'Tis little of sorrow should fall on my 
dear; 
For every kind glance my whole life would 
award him — 
In sickness I VI soothe and in sadness I 'd 
cheer. 

My Loart is a fount welliug upward for 
ever — 
Wlien I think of my true-love, by night 
or by day; 
That heart keeps its faith like a fast-flowing 
river 
Which gushes for ever and sings on its 

way. 



I have thoughts full of peace for his soul to 
repose in. 
Were I but his own wife, to win and to 
woo — 
Oh, sweet, if the night of misfortune were 
closing, 
To rise hke the morning star, darling, for 
you! 

Mart Downing. 



THE WELCOME. 

I. 
Come in the evening, or come in the morning — 
Come when you 're looked for, or come with- 
out warning ; 
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, 
And the often er you come here the more I '11 
adore you ! 
Light is my heart since the day we were 

pliglited ; 
Red is ray cheek that they told me was 

blighted ; 
The green of the trees looks far greener 

than ever. 
And the linnets are singing, " True lovers 
don't sever ! " 



I '11 pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you 

choose them ! 
Or, after you 've kissed them, they 'H lie on 

my bosom ; 
I '11 fetch from the mountain its breeze to in- 
spire you; 
I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't 
tire you. 
Oh ! your step 's like the rain to the summer- 
vexed farmer, 
Or sabre and shield to a knight without 

armor ; 
I '11 sing you sweet songs till the stars rise 

above me. 
Then, wandering, I '11 wish you in silence 
to love me. 

Ill 
Wo '11 look through the trees at the cliff and 

the eyrie ; 
We '11 tread round the rath on the track of 

the fau-y ; 



268 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



We '11 look on the stars, and we '11 list to the 

river, 
Till you ask of your darling what gift you 
can give her — 

Oh! she'll whisper you— ''Love, as un- 
changeably beaming. 

And trust, when in secret, most tunefully 
streaming ; 

Till the starhght of heaven above as shall 
quiver. 

As our souls flow in one down eternity's 
river." 

IV. 

So come in the evening, or come in the morn- 
ing; 
Oome when you 're looked for, or come with- 
out warning : 
Kisses and welcome you '11 find here before 

you, 
And the oftener you come here the more 
I '11 adore you ! 
Light is my heart since the day we were 

phghted ; 
Eed is my cheek that they told me was 

blighted ; 
The green of the trees looks far greener 

than ever, 
And the hnnets are singing, " True lovers 
don't sever ! " 

TnoMAS Davis. 



COME INTO THE GABDEK MAUD. 

Come into the garden, Maud — 
For the black bat, night, has flown ! 

Come into the garden, Maud, 
I am here at the gate alone ; 

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, 
And the musk of the roses blown. 

For a breeze of morning moves. 
And the planet of love is on high. 

Beginning to faint in the light that she loves, 
On a bed of dafibdil sky, 

To faint in the light of the sun that she loves, 
To faint in its light, and to die. 

AU night have the roses heard 

The flute, violin, bassoon ; 
All night has the casement jessamine stirred 

To the dancers dancing in tune — 



Till a silence fell with the waking bird, 
And a hush with the setting moon. 

I said to the lily, " There is but one 

With whom she has heart to be gay. 
When will the dancers leave her alone? 

She is weary of dance and play." 
Now half to the setting moon are gone, 

And half to the rising day ; 
Low on the sand and loud on the stone 

The last wheel echoes away. 

I said to the rose, " The biief night goes 

In babble and revel and wine. 
young lord-lover, what sighs are those, 

For one that wiU never be thine ! 
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, 

"For ever and ever, mine! " 



J 



And the soul of the rose went into my blood, 
As the music clashed in the hall ; 

And long by the garden lake I stood, 
For I heard your rivulet fall 

From the lake to the meadow and on to the 
wood — 
Our wood, that is dearer than all — 

From the meadow your walks have left so 
sweet 

That whenever a March-wind sighs. 
He sets the jewel-print of your feet 

In violets blue as your eyes — 
To the woody hollows in which we meet, 

And the valleys of Paradise. 

The slender acacia would not shake 

One long milk-bloom on the tree ; 
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake. 

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; 
But the rose was awake aU night for yom' 
sake. 

Knowing your i^romise to me ; 
The lilies and roses were all awake— 

They sighed for the dawn and thee. 

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls. 
Come hither ! the dances are done ; 

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, 
Queen lily and rose in one ; 

Shine out, little head, sunning over with 
curls, 
To the flowers, and be their snn. 



SUMMER DAYS. 



269 



There has fallen a splendid tear 

From the passion-flower at the gate. 
She is coming, mj dove, my dear. 

She is coming, my life, my fate ! 
The red rose cries, " She is near, she is near , " 

And the white rose weeps, " She is late : " 
Tlie larkspur listens, '* I hear, I hear," 

And the lily whispers, " I wait." 

She is coming, my own, my sweet ! 

Were it ever so airy a tread. 
My heart would hear her and heat. 

Were it earth in an earthly bed ; 
My dust would hear her and beat. 

Had I lain for a century dead — 
Would start and tremble under her feet, 

And blossom in purple and red. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



SUMMER DAYS. 

In summer, when the days were long. 
We walked together in the wood : 
Onr heart was light, otir step was strong; 
iweot flutterings were there in our blood. 
In summer, when the days ^ere long. 

Wq strayed from morn till evening came ; 
We gathered flowers, and wove us crowns ; 
We walked mid poppies red as flame. 
Or sat upon the yellow downs ; 
And always wished our life the same. 

[n summer, when the days were long, 
We leaped the hedgerow, crossed the brook ; 
And still her voice flowed forth in song, 
Or else she read some graceful book, 
[n summer, when the days were long. 

And then we sat beneath the trees, 
With shadows lessening in the noon; 
And, in the sunlight and the breeze, 
We feasted, many a gorgeous June, 
Willie larks were singing o'er the leas. 

fn summer, when the days were long, 
On dainty chicken, snow-white bread, 
We feasted, with no grace but song ; 
We plucked wild strawb'ries, ripe and red, 
h] summer, when the days were long. 



We loved, and yet we knew it not — 
For loving seemed like breathing then ; 
We found a heaven in every spot ; 
Saw angels, too, in all good men ; 
And dreamed of God in grove and grot. 

In summer, when the days are long, 
Alone 1 wander, muse alone ; 
I see her not ; but that old song 
Under the fragrant wind is blown. 
In summer, when the days are long. 

Alone I wander in the wood ; 
But one fair spirit hears ray sighs ; 
And half I see, so glad and good, 
The honest daylight of her eyes. 
That charmed me imder earlier skies. 

In summer, when the days are long, 
I love her as we loved of old ; 
My heart is hght, my step is strong ; 
For love brings back those hours of gold, 
In summer, when the days are long. 

ANOKYMOXJb 



RUTH. 



She stood breast high amid the corn, 
Clasped by the golden light of morn, 
Like the sweetheart of the snn. 
Who many a glowing kiss had won. 

On her cheek an autumn flush 
Deeply ripened ; — such a blush 
In the midst of brown was born. 
Like red poppies grown Avith com. 

Round her eyes her tresses fell— 
Which were blackest none could tell *, 
But long lashes veiled a light 
That had else been all too bright. 

And her hat, with shady brim. 
Made her tressy forehead dim ; — 
Thus she stood amid the stooks. 
Praising God with sweetest looks. 

Sure, I said. Heaven did not mean 
Where I reap thou shouldst but gleui? ; 
Lay thy rfheaf adown and come. 
Share ray harve^si; nnd m}- home. 

Thomas Ho'OD. 



270 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



AT THE CHUECH GATE. 

Although I enter not, 
Yet round about the spot 

Ofttimes I hover ; 
And near the sacred gate, 
With longing ejes I wait, 

Expectant of her. 

The minster bell tolls out 
Above the city's rout, 

And noise and humming ; 
They Ve hushed the minster bell : 
The organ 'gins to swell ; 

She 's coming, she 's coming ! 

My lady comes at last. 
Timid and stepping fast, 

And hastening hither, 
With modest eyes downcast ; 
She comes — she 's here, she's past! 

May heaven go with her ! 

Kneel undisturbed, fair saint ! 
Pour out your praise or plaint 

Meekly and duly r 
I will not enter there^ 
To sully your pure prayer 

With thoughts unruly. 

But suffer me to pace 
Round the forbidden place. 

Lingering a minute, 
Like outcast spirits, who wait, 
And see, through heaven's gate, 

Angels within it. 

William M.vxepeacb Teackekay. 



511 E IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE. 

She is a maid of artless grace, 
Gentle in form, and fair of face. 

Tell me, thou ancient mariner. 

That sailest on the sea, 
If ship, or sail, or evening star, 

Be half so fair as she ! 

Tell me, thou gallant cavalier, 

Whose shining arms I see. 
If steed, or sword, or battle-field, 

Be half so fair as she ! 



Tell me, thou swain that guard'st thy 
flock 
Beneath the shadowy tree, 
If flock, or vale, or mountain-ridge, 
Be half so fair as she ! 

Gil Vicente. (Portuguc60.} 
Translation of H. W. Longfellow. 



SERENADE. 



Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how 

I wake and passionate watches keep ; 
And yet, while I address thee now, 

Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep. 
'T is sweet enough to make me weep, 

That tender thought of love and thee, 
That while the world is hushed so deep, 

Thy soul 's perhaps awake to me ! 

n. 

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep! 

With golden visions for thy dower. 
While I this midnight vigil keep, 

And bless thee in thy silent bower ; 
To me 'tis sweeter than the power 

Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled, 
That I alone, at this still hour, 

In patient love outwatch the world. 

Thomas Door> 



I 



SEREISTADE. 

Look out upon the stars, my love, 

And shame them with thine eyes, 
On which, than on the lights above, 

There hang more destinies. 
ISTight's beauty is the harmony 

Of blending shades and light : 
Then, lady, up, — ^look out, and be 

A sister to the night ! — 



{ 



Sleep not ! — thine image wakes for aye 

Within my watching breast ; 
Sleep not! — from her soft sleep should fly, 

Who robs all hearts of rest. 
Xay, lady, from thy slumbers break. 

And make this darkness gay, 
With looks whose brightness well might make 

Of darker nights a day. 

Edward Ooatb Pinkney 



SONGS. 



2V1 



MY LOVE. 



Not as all other women are 
Is she that to my soul is dear ; 
Her glorious fancies come from far, 
Beneath the silver evening-star ; 
And yet her heart is ever near. 

II. 

Great feelings hath she of her own, 
Which lesser souls may never know ; 
God giveth them to her alone, 
And sweet they are as any tone 
Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. 



Yet in herself she dwelleth not, 
Although no home were half so fair ; 
No simplest duty is forgot ; 
Life hath no dim and lowly spot 
That doth not in her sunshine share. 

IV. 

She doeth little kindnesses, 

Which most leave undone, or despise : 

For naught that sets one heart at ease, 

And giveth happiness or peace. 

Is low-esteemed in her eyes. 



She hath no scorn of common things ; 
And, though she seem of other birth. 
Round us her heart entwines and clings. 
And patiently she folds her wings 
To tread the humble paths of earth. 

VI. 

Blessing she is ; God made her so ; 
And deeds of week-day holiness 
Fall from her noiseless as the snow ; 
Nor hath she ever chanced to know 
That aught were easier than to bless. 

VII. 

She is most fair, and thereunto 
Her life doth rightly harmonize ; 
Feeling or thought that was not true 
Ne'er made less beautiful the blue 
Unclouded heaven of her eyes. 



VIII. 

She is a woman — one in w^hom 
The spring-time of her childish years 
Hath never lost its fresh perfume, 
" Though knowing well that life hath room 
For many blights and many tears. 



I love her with a love as still 
As a broad river's peaceful might, 
Which, by high tower and lowly mill, 
Goes wandering at its own will, 
And yet doth ever flow aright. 



And, on its full, deep breast serene. 
Like quiet isles my duties lie ; 
It flows around them and between. 
And makes them fresh and fair and green 
Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 

James Russbll Lowkll, 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

It is the miller's daughter. 

And she is grown so dear, so deai', 
That I would be the jewel 

That trembles at her ear ; 
For, hid in ringlets day and night, 
I 'd touch her neck so warm and white. 

And I would be the girdle 

About her dainty, dainty waist. 

And her heart would beat against mc 
In sorrow and in rest ; 

And I should know if it beat rightf 

I 'd clasp it round so close and tight. 

And I would be the necklace, 
And all day long to fall and rise 

Upon her balmy bosom 
With her laughter or her sighs ; 

And I would lie so light, so light, 

I scarce should be unclasped at night. 

ALfKKD TrKNYBOIv 



272 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



THE BROOK-SIDE. 

I wANDEEED hj the brook-side, 

I wandered by the mill ; 

I could not hear the brook flow — 

The noisy wheel was still ; 

There was no burr of grasshopper, 

No chirp of any bird, 

But the beating of my own heart 

Was all the sound I heard. 

I sat beneath the elm-tree ; 

I watched the long, long shade. 

And, as it grew still longer, 

I did not feel afraid ; 

For I listened for a footfall, 

I listened for a word — 

But the beating of my own heart 

Was all the sound I heard. 

He came not, — no, he came not — 
The night came on alone — 
The little stars sat one by one. 
Each on his golden throne ; 
The evening wind passed by my cheek, 
The leaves above were stirred — 
But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound I heard. 

Fast silent tears were flowing, 
When something stood behind ; 
A hand was on my shoulder — 
I knew its touch was kind : 
It drew me nearer — ^nearer, — 
We did not speak one word, 
For the beating of our own hearts 
Was all the sound we heard. 

KiCHARD MONCKTON MiLNES. 



OH! TELL ME, LOYE, THE DEAREST 
HOUR. 

On ! tell me, love, the dearest hour 
The parted, anxious lover knows, — 

When passion, with enchanter's power. 
Across his faithful memory throws 
Its softest, brightest flame. 



'T is when he sings on some lone shore 

Where Echo's vocal spirits throng, 
Whose airy voices, o'er and o'er. 
On still and moonlight lake prolong 

One dear, loved, thrilling name. 
Anonymous. 



TO 



Let other bards of angels sing, 

Bright suns without a spot ; 
But thou art no such perfect thing : 

Rejoice that thou art not ! 

Heed not though none should call thee fair : 

So, Mary, let it be, 
If naught in loveliness compare 

With what thou art to me. 

True beauty dwells in deep retreats, 

Whose veil is unremoved 
Till heart with heart in concord beats, 

And the lover is beloved. 

"William "Wcrdswobth. 



BALLAD. 



It was not in the winter 
Our loving lot was cast ; 

It was the time of roses, — 
We plucked them as we passed ! 



That churlish season never frowned 

On early lovers yet ! 
Oh no — the world was newly crowns 

With flowers when flrst we met. 

III. 

'T was twilight, and I bade you go — 

But still you held me fast ; 
It was the time of roses, — 

We plucked them as we passed ! 

Thomas Hood. 



SONGS. 



2:3 



THE POETRAIT. 

CoMEj thou best of painters, 
Prince of the Ehodian art; 

Paint, thou best of painters. 
The mistress of my heart — 

Though absent — from the picture 
Which I shall now impart. 

First paint for me her ringlets 

Of dark and glossy hue. 
And fragrant odors breathing — 

If this thine art can do. 

Paint me an ivory forehead 
That crowns a perfect cheek. 

And rises under ringlets 
Dark-colored, soft, and sleek. 

The space between the eyebrows 
Nor mingle nor dispart. 

But blend them imperceptibly 
And true will be thy art. 

From under black-eye fringes 
Let sunny flashes play — 

Cythera's swimming glances, 
Minerva's azure ray. 

With milk commingle roses 
To paint a nose and cheeks — 

A lip like bland persuasion's — 
A lip that kissing seeks. 

Within the chin luxurious 

Let all the graces fair. 
Round neck of alabaster, 

Be ever flitting there. 

And now in robes invest her 

Of palest purple dyes. 
Betraying fair proportions 

To our delighted eyes. 

Cease, cease, I see before me 
The picture of my choice ! 
And quickly wilt thou give me — 
The music of thy voice, 

Anacreon. (Greek.) 
TrjLOfilation ofWiLLiAM Hay. 

39 



A HEALTH. 

I FILL this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon ; 
To whom the better elements 

And kindly stars have given 
A form so fair, that, like the air, 

'T is less of earth than heaven. 

Her every tone is music's own, 

Like those of morning birds, 
And something more than melody 

Dwells ever in her words ; 
The coinage of her heart are they, 

And from her lips each flows 
As one may see the burdened beo 

Forth issue from the rose. 

Affections are as thoughts to her, 

The measures of her hours ; 
Her feelings have the fragrancy, 

The freshness of young flowers ; 
And lovely passions, changing oft, 

So fill her, she appears 
The image of themselves by turns. — 

The idol of past years ! 

Of her bright face one glance will trace 

A picture on the brain, 
And of her voice in echoing hearts 

A sound must long remain ; 
But memory, such as mine of her. 

So very much endears, 
When death is nigh my latest sigh 

Will not be life's, but liers. 

I fill this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon — 
Her health I and would on earth thcix' 
stood 

Some nioro of such a frame, 
That life might be all poetry. 

And weariness a name. 

Edward Coate Pinkney 



274 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



LOYE SOiTG. 

S'yVEKT in her green dell the flower of beauty 

slumbers, 
Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through 

her hair ! 
Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy 

numbers 
Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air ! 

Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is 

teeming 
To wind round the willow banks that lure 

him from above ; 
Oh that, in tears, from my rocky prison 

streaming, 
I, too, could glide to the bower of my love ! 

Ah, where the w^oodbines, with sleepy arms, 

have wound her. 
Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay, 
Listenmg, like the dove, while th^ fountains 

echo round her, 
To her lost mate's call in the forests far away ! 

Come, then, my bird ! for the peace thou 

ever bearest. 
Still heaven's messenger of comfort to me — 
Gome ! this fond bosom, my faithfulest, my 

fairest. 
Bleeds with its death-wound — but deeper 

yet for thee 1 

George Daeley. 



SYLVIA. 

[ 'vE taught thee love's sweet lesson o'er — 

A task that is not learned with tears : 
Was Sylvia e'er so blest before 
In her wild, solitary years ? 

Then what does he deserve, the youth 
Who made her con so dear a truth ? 

rill now in silent vales to roam. 

Singing vain songs to heedless f owers. 
Or watch the dashing billows foam, 
Amid thy lonely myrtle bowers — 
To weave light crowns of various hue — 
TTere «dl the joys thy bosom knew. 



The wild bird, though most musical. 

Could not to thy sweet plaint reply ; 
The streamlet, and the waterfall, 

Could only weep when thou didst sigh I 
Thou couldst not change one dulcet won I 
Either with billow, or with bird. 

For leaves and flowers, but these alone, 
Winds have a soft, discoursing way ; 
Heaven's starry talk is all its own, — 
It dies in thunder far away. 

E'en when thou wouldst the moon bo 

guile 
To speak, — she only deigns to smile ! 

IinTow, birds and winds, be churlish still I 

Ye waters, keep your sullen roar ! 
Stars, be as distant as ye will,— 
Sylvia need court ye now no more : 
In love there is society 
She never yet could find with ye I 

George DAiiixv. 



ROSALIE. 

Oh, pour upon my soul again 
That sad, unearthly strain. 

That seems from other worlds to plain ; 

Thus falling, falling from afar. 

As if some melancholy star 

Had mingled with her light her sighs. 
And dropped them from the skies. 

No — never came from aught below 

This melody of woe. 
That makes my heart to overflow, 
As from a thousand gushing springs 
Unknown before ; that with it brings 
This nameless light — if light it be — 

That veils the world I see. 

For all I see around me wears 
The hue of other spheres ; 

And something blent of smiles and tean; 

Comes from the very air I breathe. 

Oh, nothing, sure, the stars beneath, 

Can mould a sadness like to this — 
So like angelic bhss. 



i 



SONGS. 



'Alh 



So, at that dreamy hour of day, 
When the last lingering ray 

Stops on the highest cloud to play — 

So thought the gentle Rosalie 

As on her maiden revery 

First fell the strain of him who stole 
In music to her soul. 

"WASHiiirGTON Allston. 



SOXG. 



Sing the old song, amid the sounds dispers- 
ing 
That burden treasured in your hearts too 
long; 
Sing it with voice low-breathed, but 
never name her : 
She will not hear you, in her turrets nursing 
High thoughts, too high to mate with mor- 
tal song — 
Bend o'er her, gentle heaven, but do 
not claim her ! 



In twilight caves, and secret lonelinesses. 
She shades the bloom of her unearthly 
days ;— - 
The forest winds alone approach to woo 
her. 
Far off we catch the dark gleam of her 
tresses ; 
And wild birds haunt the wood-walks 
where she strays, 
Intelligible music warbling to her. 



That spirit charged to follow and defend her, 
He also, doubtless, suffers this love-pain ; 
And slie perhaps is sad, hearing his 
sighing. 
i\jid yet that face is not so sad as tender ; 
Like some sweet singer's, when her sweet- 
est strain 
From the heaved heart is gradually 
dying ! 

AlJBRKT PB VkkR. 



THE AWAKElSrOTG OF ENDYMION. 

Lone upon a mountain, the pine-trees wailing 
round him, 
Lone upon a mountain the Grecian youth 
is laid ; 
Sleep, mystic sleep, for many a year has 
bound him. 
Yet tii'tjl^liity, like a statue's, pale and 
&iij^l^ndecayed. 
^^M^-^^^Sy'hen will he awaken ? 

When wiir'ne awaken? a loud voice hath 
been crying, 
Night after night, and the cry has been in 
vain ; 
Winds, woods, and waves found echoes for 
replying. 
But the tones of the beloved one were 
never heard again. 

When will he awaken ? 
Asked the midnight's silver queen. 

Never mortal eye lias looked upon his sleeping ; 
Parents, kindred, comrades, have mourned 
for him as dead ; 
By day the gathered clouds have had him in 
their keeping, 
And at nigbt the solemn shadows round 
his rest are shed. 

When will he awaken ? 

Long has been the cry of faithful love's im- 
ploring ; 
Long has hope been watching with soft 
eyes fixed above ; 
When will the fates, the life of life restoring, 
Own themselves vanquished by much- 
enduring love ? 

When will he awaken ? 
Asks the midnight's weary queen. 

Beautiful the sleep that she has watched un- 
tiring, 
Lighted up with visions from yonder ra- 
diant sky, 
Full of an immortal's glorious inspiring, 
Softened by the woman's meek and loving 
sigh. 

When will ho awaken . 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



He has been dreaming of old heroic stories, I 
And the poet's passionate w^d has entered 
in his soul ; '% 

He lias grown conscious of life's ancestral 
glories, i 

When sages and when kings first upheld the I 
mind's control. 

When will he awaken ? 
Asks the midnight's stately queen. 






sent hour 
s on the 



Lo, the appointed midnighti 
is fated ! 
It is Endymion's planet 
air; 
How long, how tenderly his goddess-love has 
waited, 
"Waited with a love too mighty for despair ! 
Soon he will awaken. 

Soft amid the pines is a sound as if of sing- 
ing, 
Tones that seem the lute's from the breath- 
ing flowers depart ; 
N'ot a wind that wanders o'er Mount Latmos 
but is bringing 
Music that is murmured from nature's in- 
most heart. 

Soon he will awaken 
To his and midnight's queen ! 

Lovely is the green earth, — she knows the 
hour is holy ; 
Starry are the heavens, lit with eternal 

joy; 

Light like their own is dawning sweet and 
slowly 
O'er the fair and sculptured forehead of 
that yet dreaming boy. 

Soon he will awaken ! 

Red as the red rose towards the morning 
turning, 
"Warms the youth's lip to the watcher's 
near his own ; 
While the dark eyes open, bright, intense, 
and burning 
With a life more glorious than, ere they 
closed, was known. 

Yes, he has awakened 
For the midnight's happy queen ! 



What is this old history, but a lesson given, 
IIow true love still conquers by the deep 
strength of truth — 
How all the impulses, whose native home ie 
heaven, 
Sanctify the visions ol hope, and faith, aiid 
youth ? 

'T is for such they waken ! 

When every worldly thought is utterly for- 
saken. 
Comes the starry midnight, felt by life's 
gifted few ; 
Then will the spirit from its earthly sleep 
awaken 
To a being more intense, more spiritual, 
and true. 

So doth the soul awaken. 
Like that youth to night's fair queen ! 

L^TiTiA Elizabeth Laxdo>'. 



SONG. 



Day, in melting purple dying ; 
Blossoms, all around me sighing ; 
Fragrance, from the lilies straying ; 
Zephyr, with my ringlets playing; 

Ye but waken my distress ; 

I am sick of loneliness i 

Thou, to whom I love to hearken, 
Come, ere night around me darken ; 
Though thy softness but deceive me. 
Say thou 'rt true, and I '11 believe thee ; 

Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent. 

Let me think it innocent : 

Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure ; 

All I ask is friendship's pleasure ; 

Let the shining ore lie darkling — 

Bring no gem in lustre sparkling ; 

Gifts and gold are naught to me 
I would only look on thee ! 

Tell to thee the high- wrought feeling, 

Ecstasy but in revealing ; 

Paint to thee the deep sensation, 

Kapture in participation ; 

Yet but torture, if comprest 
In a lone, unfriended breast 



SONGS. 



277 



Absent still ! All ! come and bless me I 

Let these eyes again caress thee. 

Once in caution, I conld fly thee ; 

Now, I nothing could deny thee. 
In a look if death there be, 
Come, and I will gaze on thee ! 
Maeia Beooks. 



ABSENCE. 



-f 



W^HAT shall I do with all the days and hours 
That must be counted ere I see thy face ? 

'H^ow shall I charm the interval that lowers 
Between this time and that sweet time of 



Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense — 
"Weary with longing ? Shall I flee away 

Into past days, and with some fond pretence 
Cheat myself to forget the present day ? 

v'^liall love for thee lay on my soul the sin 
Of casting from me God's great gift of 
time ? 
Snail 1. these mists of memory locked with- 
in, 
Leave and forget life's purposes sublime ? 

Oh, how, or by what means, may I contrive 
To bring the hour that brings thee back 
more near ? 

How may I teach my drooping hope to live 
Until that blessed time, and thou art here ? 

I '11 tell thee ; for thy sake I will lay hold 
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee. 

In worthy deeds, each moment that is told 
While thou, beloved one! art far from 
me. 

Hnr tliee I will arouse my thoughts to try 
All heavenward flights, all high and holy 
strains ; 
F'or thy dear sake I will walk patiently 
Through these long hours, nor call their 
minutes pains 



I will this dreary blank of absence make 
A noble task-time ; and will therein strive 

To follow excellence, and to o'ertake 

More good than I have won since yet I live 

So may this doomed time build up in me 
A thousand graces, which shall thus be 
thine ; 

So may my love and longing hallowed be. 
And thy dear thought an influence divine. 

Frances Anne Kemble. 



THE GROOMSMAN TO HIS MISTPwESS 



Every wedding, says the proverb, 
Makes another, soon or late ; 

Never yet was any marriage 
Entered in the book of fate, 

But the names were also written 
Of the patient pair that wait. 

II. 

Blessings then upon the morning 
When my friend, with fondest look, 

By the solemn rites' permission. 
To himself his mistress took. 

And the destinies recorded 
Other two within their book. 



While the priest fulfilled his oflice, 
Still the ground the lovers eyed, 

And the parents and the kinsmen 
Aimed their glances at the bride ; 

But the groomsmen eyed the virgins 
Who were waiting at lier side. 

IV. 

Three there v/ere that stood beside her ; 

One was dark, and one was fair ; 
But nor fair nor dark the other, 

Save her Arab eyes and hair ; 
Neither dark nor fair I call her, 

Yet she was the fairest there. 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



While her groomsman — shall I own it ? 

Yes to thee, and only thee — 
Gazed npon tlis dark-eyed maiden 

Who was fairest of the three, 
Tims he thought : " How blest the bridal 

Where the bride were such as she ! " 

YI. 

Then I mused upon the adage, 
Till my wisdom was perplexed. 

And I wondered, as the churchman 
Dwelt upon his holy text, 

Which of all who heard his lesson 
Should require the service next. 

VII. 

Whose will be the next occasion 
For the flowers, the feast, the wine ? 

Thine, perchance, my dearest lady ; 
Or, who knows ? — it may be mine. 

What if 't were — forgive the fancy — 
What if 't were — both mine and thine? 
Thomas William Pabsoxs. 



SONG. 



How dehcious is the winning 
Of a kiss at love's beginning, 
When two mutual hearts are sighing 
For the knot there 's no untymg ! 

Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing, 
Love has bliss, but love has rueing ; 
Other smiles may make you fickle. 
Tears for other charms may trickle. 

Love he comes, and Love he tarries, 
Just as fate our fancy carries ; 
Longest stays when sorest chidden ; 
Laughs and flies when pressed and bidden. 

Bind the sea to slumber stilly, 
Bind its odor to the lily. 
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver, 
Tlien bind love to last forever ! 

Thomas Campbell. 



THE CHRONICLE. 



A BALLAD. 



Maegaeita first possessed, 

If I remember well, my breast, 

Margarita first of aU ; 
But when awhile the wanton maid 
With my restless heart had played, 

Martha took the flying ball. 

Martha soon did it resign 
To the beauteous Catharine. 

Beauteous Catharine gave place 
(Though loth and angry she to pail: 
With the possession of my heart) 

To Eliza's conquering face. 

Eliza till this hour might reign, 
Had she not evil counsels ta'en ; 

Fundamental laws she broke. 
And still new favorites she chose, 
Till up in arms ray passions rose, 

And cast away her yoke. 

Mary then, and gentle Anne, 
Both to reign at once began ; 

Alternately they swayed ; 
And sometimes Mary was the fair. 
And sometimes Anne the crown did wear 

And sometimes both I obeyed. 

Another Mary then arose, 
And did rigorous laws impose ; 

A mighty tyrant she I 
Long, alas ! should I have been 
Under that iron-sceptred queen, 

Had not Rebecca set me free. 

When fair Rebecca set me free, 
'T was then a golden time with me : 

But soon those pleasures fled ; 
For the gracious princess died 
In her youth and beauty's pride, 

And Judith reigned in her stead. 

One month, three days, and half an hour 
Judith held the sovereign power : 

Wondrous beautiful her face ! 
But so weak and small her wit, 
That she to govern was unfit. 

And so Susanna took her place. 



THE NUN. 



279 



But when Isabella came, 
Armed with a resistless flame, 

And the artillery of her eye, 
Whilst she proudly marched about. 
Greater conquests to find out. 

She beat out Susan by the bye. 

But in her place I then obeyed 
Black-eyed Bess, her viceroy -maid, 

To whom ensued a vacancy : 
Thousand worse passions then possessed 
The interregnum of my breast ; 

Bless me from such an anarchy ! 

Gentle Henrietta then, 

And a third Mary next began ; 

Then Joan, and Jane, and Andi'ia ; 
And then a pretty Thomasine, 
And then another Catharine, 

And then a long et cater a. 

But should I now to you relate 

The strength and riches of their state ; 

The powder, patches, and the pins. 
The ribbons, jewels, and the rings. 
The lace, the paint, and warlike things. 

That make up all their magazines ; 

II 1 should tell the politic arts 
To take and keep men's hearts ; 

The letters, embassies, and spies, 
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries, 
The quarrels, tears, and perjuries 

(Numberless, nameless mysteries !) 

And all the little lime-twigs laid 
By Machiavel the waiting-maid — 

I more voluminous should grow 
(Chiefly if I like them should tell 
All change of weathers that befell) 

Than Holinshed or Stow. 

But I A/ill briefer with them be. 
Since few of them were long with me. 

An higher and a nobler strain 
My present emperess does claim 
Heleonora, first of the name ; 

Whom God grant long to reign ! 



THE NUN. 



If you become a nun, dear, 

A friar I will be ; 
In any cell you run, dear. 

Pray look behind for me. 
The roses aU turn pale, too ; 
The doves all take the veil, too ; 

The blind will see the show : 
What ! you become a nun, my deai' ? 

I '11 not believe it, no ! 



If you become a nun, dear. 

The bishop Love will be ; 
The Cupids every one, dear, 

Will chant, ^' We trust in thee ! '» 
The incense will go sighing. 
The candles fall a dying. 

The water turn to wine : 
What ! you go take the vows, my dear i 

You may — but they 'U be mine. 

Leigh Hunt. 



CfeABBED AGE AND YOUTH. 

Ceabbed age and youth 

Cannot live together : 
Youth is full of pleasance. 

Age is full of care ; 
Youth like summer morn, 

Age like winter weather ; 
Youth hke summer brave, 

K^^ like winter bare. 
Youth is full of sport. 
Age's breath is short ; 

Youth is nimble, age is h\me ; 
Youth is hot and bold, 
Age is weak and cold ; 

Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee. 
Youth, I do adore thee ; 

O, my love, my love is young I 
Age, I do defy thee; 
O, sweet shepherd I hie thee, 

For methinks tliou stay'st too long. 
Shakxsfeasd 



2bO 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



THE MAIDEINT'S CHOICE. 

Genteel in personage, 
Conduct and equipage; 
iSToble by heritage ; 

Generous and free ; 

Brave, not romantic ; 
Learned, not pedantic; 
Frolic, not frantic — 
This must he be. 

Honor maintaining, 
Meanness disdaining. 
Still entertaining, 

Engaging and new ; 

]^eat, bnt not finical ; 
Sage, but not cynical ; 
Kever tyrannical. 
But ever true. 



Anonymous. 



THE SHEPHEPwD'S EESOLUTK)K 

Shall I, wasting in despair. 
Die because a woman 's fair ? 
Or make pale my cheeks with care, 
'Cause another's rosy are? 
Be she fairer than the day, 
Or the flowery meads in May — 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how fair she be ? 

Shall my foolish heart be pined 
'Cause I see a woman kind ? 
Or a well-disposed nature 
Joined with a lovely feature ? 
Be she meeker, kinder, than 
The turtle dove or pelican — 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how kind she be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 
Me to perish for her love ? 
Or, her weU descrvings known, 
Make me quite forget mine own? 
Be she with that goodness blest, 
Which may merit name of best. 
If she be not such to me, 
What care I how good slie be i 



'Cause her -^ortune seems too high, 
Shall I play the fool and die ? 
Those that bear a noble mind 
Where they want of riches find, 
Think what with them they would do 
That without them dare to woo ; 
And unless that mind I see. 
What care I how great she be ? 

Great, or good, or kind, or fair. 

I wil] ne'er the more despair ^ 

If she love me, this believe — 

I will die ere she shall grieve. 

If she shght me when I woo, 

I can scorn and let her go ; 
For if she be not for me, 
What care I for whom she be? 

George Witiibu. 



SOIs^G. 



Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? 

Pr'y thee, why so pale ? — 
WlQ, when looking well can't move her. 

Looking iU prevail ? 

Pr'y thee, why so pale ? 

Why so duU and mute, young sinner ? 

Pr'y thee, why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her, 

Saying nothing do 't? 

Pr'y thee, why so mute ? 

Quit, quit, for shame ! this will not move, 

This cannot take her — 
If of herself she will not love, 

ITothing can make her : 

The devil take her ! 

SiE John Sucklino. 



FI.Y NOT YET. 

Fly not yet — 't is just the hour 
When pleasure, like the midnight flower 
That scorns the eye of vulgar light, 
Begins to bloom for sons of night. 

And maids who love the moon ! 
'T was but to bless these hours of shade 
That beauty and the moon were made ; 



SONGS. 



281 



'T is then tlieir soft attractions glowing 
Set the tides and goblets flowing ! 

Oh ! stay, — oh ! stay, — 
Joy so seldom weaves a chain 
I /ike this to-night, that oh ! 't is pain 

To break its links so soon. 



Fly not yet ! the fount that played. 

In times of old, through Ammon's shade, 

Though icy cold by day it ran. 

Yet stiU, like sounds of mirth, began 

To burn when night was near ; 
And thus should woman's heart and looks 
At noon be cold as winter-brooks, 
Nor kindle till the night, returning. 
Brings their genial hour for burning. 

Oh! stay, — oh! stay, — 
When did morning ever break 
And find such beaming eyes awake 

As those that sparkle here ! 

Thomas Moore. 



DEOEITFULNESS OF LOVE. 

Go, sit by the summer sea. 

Thou whom scorn wasteth, 
And let thy musing be 

Where the flood hasteth. 
Mark how o'er ocean's breast 
Rolls the hoar billow's crest ; 
Such is his heart's unrest, 

Who of love tasteth. 

Griev'st thou that hearts should change ? 

Lo ! where life reign eth. 
Or the free sight doth range. 

What long remaineth ? 
Spring with her flowers doth die ; 
Fast fades the gilded sky ; 
And the full moon on high 

Ceaselessly waneth. 

Smile, tlien, ye sage and wise : 

And if love sever 
Bonds which thy soul doth prize, 

Such does it ever I 

Deep as the rolling seas. 

Soft as the twilight breeze, 

But of more than these 

Boast could it never ! 

Anonymous. 



THE CHEAT OF CUPID; 

OK, THE UNGENTLE GUEST. 

OxE silent night of late. 

When every creature rested, 

Came one unto my gate. 

And, knocking, me molested. 

Who 's there, said I, beats there, 
And troubles thus the sleepy ? 

Cast off, said he, all fear, 

And let not locks thus keep thee. 

For I a boy am, who 

By moonless nights have swerved ; 
And all with showers wet through, 

And e'en with cold half starved. 

I, pitiful, arose, 

And soon a taper lighted ; 
And did myself disclose 

Unto the lad benighted. 

I saw he had a bow, 

And wings, too, which did shiver ; 
And, looking down below, 

I spied he had a quiver. 

I to my chimney's shrine 

Brouglit liim, as Love professes, 

And chafed his hands with mine, 
And dried his dripping tresses. 

But when that he felt warmed : 

Let 's try this bow of ours. 
And string, if they be harmed, 

Said he, with these late showers. 

Forthwith his bow he bent, 
And wedded string and arrow. 

And struck me, that it went 

Quite through my heart and marrow 

Til en, laughing loud, he flew 
Away, and thus said flying : 

Adieu, mine host, adieu 1 
I '11 leave thy heart a-dying. 



ANiCRlX^N. 

Translation of Robert IIerrick. 



(Oivvk.) 



282 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



TF 1 DESIRE WITH PLEASANT SONGS. 

If I desire with pleasant songs 
To throw a merry hour away, 

Comes Love nnto me, and my wrongs 
In careful tale he doth display, 

And asks me how I stand for singing, 

While I my helpless hands am wringing. 

And then another time, if I 
A noon in shady hower would pass, 

Comes he with stealthy gestures sly, 
And flinging down upon the grass, 

Quoth he to me : My master dear. 

Think of this noontide such a year ! 

And if elsewhile I lay my head 

On pillow, with intent to sleep, 
Lies Love beside me on the bed, 

And gives me ancient words to keep ; 
Says he: These looks, these tokens num- 
ber- 
May be, they '11 help you to a slumber. 

So every time when I would yield 
An hour to quiet, comes he still ; 

And hunts up every sign concealed, 
And every outward sign of ill ; 

And gives me his sad face's pleasures 

For merriment's, or sleep's, or leisure's. 

Thomas Bitkbidge. 



THE ANNOYER. 

Love knoweth every form of air. 

And every shape of earth. 
And comes unbidden everywhere. 

Like thought's mysterious birth. 
The moonht sea and the sunset sky 

Are written with Love's words, 
And you hear his voice unceasingly, 

Like song in the time of birds. 

He peeps into the warrior's heart 

From the tip of a stooping plume. 
And the serried spears, and the many men 

May not deny him room. 
He '11 come to his tent in the weary night, 

And be busy in his dream. 
And he '11 float to his eye in the morning light, 

Like a fay on a silver beam. 



*'s gun, ^J 



He hears the sound of the hunter's gun. 

And rides on the echo back, 
And sighs in his ear like a stirring leaf, 

And flits in his woodland track. 
The shade of the wood, and the sheen of tlie 
river. 

The cloud and the open sky, — 
He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver, 

Like the light of your very eye. 

The fisher hangs over the leaning boat, 

And ponders the silver sea. 
For Love is under the surface hid, 

And a spell of thought has he. 
He heaves the wave like a bosom sweet, 

And speaks in the ripple low, 
TiU the bait is gone from the crafty line, 

And the hook hangs bare below. 

He blurs the print of the scholar's book, 

And intrudes in the maiden's prayer, 
And profanes the cell of the holy man 

In the shape of a lady fair. 
In the darkest night, and the bright daylight, 

In earth, and sea, and sky. 
In every home of human thought 

Will Love be lurking nigh. 

Nathaniel Pakkeh Willis. 



THE DULE'S I' THIS BONNET 0' MINE. 

The dule 's i' this bonnet o' mine : 

My ribbins '11 never be reet ; 
Here,' Mally, aw 'm like to be fine, 

For Jamie 'U be comin' to-n.eet ; 
He met me i' th' lone t'other day 

(Aw wur gooin' for wayter to th' well), 
An' he begged that aw' d wed hun i' May, 

Bi th' mass, if he '11 let me, aw will ! 

When he took my two bonds into his. 

Good Lord, hcaw tjiey trembled between 
An' aw durstn't look up in his face, 

Becose on him seein' my e'en. 
My cheek went as red as a rose ; 

There 's never a mortal con tell 
Heaw happy aw felt — for, thae knows, 

One couldn't ha' axed him theirseP. 

But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung : 
To let it eawt wouldn't be reet, 



SONGS. 



2Qii 



For aw thought to seem forrud wur wrung ; 

So aw towd him aw 'd tell him to-neet. 
But, Mally, thae knows very weel, 

Though it isn't a thing one should own, 
Iv aw'd th' pikein' o' th' world to myseP, 

Aw 'd oather ha' Jamie or noan. 

ISIoaw, Mally, aw 've towd thae my mind., 

What would to do i v it wur thee ? 
^ Aw'd tak him just while he 'se inclined, 

An' a farrantly bargain he '11 be ; 
For Jamie 's as greadly a lad 

As ever stept eawt into th' sun. 
Go, jump at thy chance, an' get wed ; 

An' mak th' best o' th' job when it 's done ! " 

Eh, dear! but it's time to be gwon: 

Aw shouldn't like Jamie to wait ; 
Aw connut for shame be too soon. 

An' aw wouldn't for th' wuld be too late. 
Aw 'm o' ov a tremble to th' heel : 

Dost think 'at my bonnet '11 do ? 
^' Be off, lass — thae looks very weel ; 

He wants noan o' th' bonnet, thae foo ! " 

Edwin Waugh. 



RORY O^MORE ; 

OE, GOOD CMENS. 
I. 

Young Rory O'More courted Kathleen bawn ; 
He was bold as the hawk, and she soft as the 

dawn; 
He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to 

please, 
And he thought the best way to do that was 

to tease. 
" Kow, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would 

cry. 
Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye — 
" With your tricks, I don't know, in throth, 

what I'm about ; 
Faith you've teazed till I 've put on my cloak 

inside out." 
*Och jewel," says Rory, "that same is the 

way 
You 've tkrated my heart for this many a day ; 
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to 

be sure ? 
For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory 

O'More. 



n. 

"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, " do n't think 

of the like. 
For I half gave a promise to soothering 

Mike ; 
The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll bo 

bound " — 
"Faith!" says Rory, "I'd rather love you 

than the ground." 
" [N'ow, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go ; 
Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you 

so ! " 
" Och ! " says Rory, " that same I 'm delighted 

to hear. 
For dhrames always go by conthrarios, my 

dear. 
Och! jewel, keep dhraming that same til] 

you die. 
And bright morning will give dirty night the 

black lie ! 
And 't is plazed that I am, and why not, to 

be sure ? 
Since 't is all for good luck," says bold Rory 

O'More. 

m. 

" Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you 've teazed 

me enough ; 
Sure I've thrashed, for your sake, Dinny 

Grimes and Jim Daff ; 
And I 've made myself, drinking your health, 

quite a baste. 
So I think, after that, I may talk to the 

priest." 
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round 

her neck, 
So soft and so white, without freckle or 

speck ; 
And he looked in her eyes, that were beam- 
ing with light, 
And he kissed her sweet lips — do n't you think 

he was right ? 
" Now Rory, leave off, sir — you '11 hug mo 

no more — 
That 's eight times to-d.iy you have kissed mo 

before." 
"Then here goes another," says he, * to make 

sure. 

For there 's luck in odd numbers," says Ror> 

O'More. 

Samitkl Loveb. 



284 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



COMHsTG THROUGH THE RYE. 

Gm a body meet a body 

Oomin' through the rye, 
Gin a body kiss a body, 

l^eed a body cry ? 
Every lassie has her la-ddie — 

IsTe'er a ane hae I ; 
Yet a' the lads they smile at me 

When comin' through the rye. 
Amang the train there is a swain 

I dearly lo'e myseV ; 
But loliaur Ms fiame^ or what his name^ 
I dinna care to tell. 

Gin a body meet a body 

Oomin' frae the town, 
Gin a body greet a body, 

ISTeed a body frown ? 
Every lassie has her laddie — 

^Nfe'er a ane hae I; 
Fet a' the lads they smile at me 

When comin' through the rye. 
Amang the train there is a swain 

I dearly We myseV ; 
But whaur his hame^ or lohat his name^ 
I dinna care to tell. 

Anonymous. 



MOLLY CAREW. 

0(^H hone ! and what will I do ? 
Sure my love is all crost. 
Like a bud in the frost ; 
And there 's no use at all in my going to bed, 
For 't is dhrames and not sleep that comes 
into my head ; 
And 't is all about you. 
My sweet Molly Carew — 
And indeed 't is a sin and a shame ! 
You 're oomplater than nature 
In every feature ; 
The snow can 't compare 
With your forehead so fair ; 
And I rather would see just one blink of your 

eye 
Vhan the prettiest star that shmes out of the 
sky; 
And by this and by tliat. 
For the matter o' tliat, 



You 're more distant by far than that same 1 
Och hone ! weirasthru ! 
I 'm alone in this world without you. 

Och hone ! but why should I spake 
Of your forehead and eyes, 
When your nose it defies 
Paddy Blake, the schoolmaster, to put it in 

rhyme ; 
Tho' there 's one Burke, he says, that would 
call it snublime. 
And then for your cheek. 
Troth 't would take him a week 
Its beauties to tell, as he 'd rather ; 
Then your lips ! oh, machree ! 

In their beautiful glow 
They a pattern might be 
For the cherries to grow. 
'T was an apple that tempted our mother, we 

know, 
For apples were scarce, I suppose, long ago ; 
But at this time o' day, 
'Pon my conscience I '11 say, 
Such cherries might tempt a man's father! 
Och hone ! weirasthru ! 
I 'm alone in this world without you. 

Och hone ! by the man in the moon. 
You taze me all ways 
That a woman can plaze, 
For you dance twice as high with that thief, 

Pat Magee, 
As when you take share of a jig, dear, with 
me. 
Tho' the piper I bate. 
For fear the old cheat 
Would n't play you your favorite tune. 
And when you 're at mass 
My devoiion you crass. 
For 't is thinking of you 
I am, Molly Carew. 
While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep 
That I can 't at your sweet pretty face get a 
peep. 
Oh, lave off that bonnet, 
Or else I '11 lave on it 
The loss of my wandering sowl I 

Och hone! weirasthru I 
Och hone ! like an owl. 
Day is night, dear, to L?.e without 
yoTiI 



SONGS. 



285 



Cell hone ! do n't provoke me to do it ; 
For there 's girls bv the score 
That loves me--and more ; 
And you 'd look very quare if some morning 

you 'd meet 
My wedding all marcliing in pride down the 
street ; 
Troth, you 'd open your eyes, 
And you 'd die witli surprise 
To think 't was n't you was come to it ! 
And faith, Katty !N"aile, 
And her cow, I go bail, 
Would jump if I 'd say, 
" Katty Kaile, name the day ; " 
And tho' you 're fair and fresh as a morning 

in May, 
WTiile she 's short and dark like a cold win- 
ter's day. 
Yet if you do n't repent 
Before Easter, when Lent 
Is over, I '11 marry for spite, 
Och hone ! weirasthru ! 
And when I die for you, 
My ghost will haunt you every night. 

Samtjel Lover, 



WIDOW MACHREE. 



W^iDow machree, it 's no wonder you frown — 

Och hone ! widow machree ; 
Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty 
black gown — 
Och hone ! widow machree. 
How altered your air. 
With that close cap you wear — 
'T is destroying your hair, 

Which should be flowing free : 
Be no longer a churl 
Of its black silken curl — 
Och hone! widow machree! 



Widow machree, now the summer is ccme — 
Och hone! widow machree 

When every thing smiles, should a jeauty 
look glum ? 
Och hone ! widow machree ! 



See the birds go in pairs, 
And the rabbits and hares — 
Why, even the bears 

¥ow in couples agree ; 
And the mute little fish, 
Though they can 't spake, they wish — 

Och hone ! widow machree. 



Widow machree, and when winter comes in — 

Och hone ! widow machree — 
To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 
Sure the shovel and tongs 
To each other belongs, 
And the kettle sings songs 

Full of family glee ; 
While alone with your cup, 
Like a hermit you sup, 

Och hone ! widow machree. 

IV. 

And how do you know, with the comfortts 
I 've towld — 
Och hone ! widow machree — 
But you 're keeping some poor fellow out in 
the cowld, 
Och hone ! widow machree ! 
With such sins on your head. 
Sure your peace would be fled ; 
Could you sleep in your bed 

Without thinking to see 
Some ghost or some sprite, 
That would wake you each night. 
Crying, " Och hone ! widow machree I " 

y. 
Then take rny advice, darling widow ma- 
chree — 
Och hone ! widow machree — 
And with my advice, faith, I wish you 'd take 
me, 
Och hone ! widow machree I 
You 'd have me to desire 
Then to stir up the fire ; 
And sure hope is no liar 
In whispering to me, 
That tlie ghosts would depart 
When you'd me near your heart — 
OcJi hone ' widow machree ! 

Samuel Lover. 



2SQ 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



STANTZAS. 

On, talk not to me of a name great in story ; 
The days of our youth are the days of our 

glory, 
And the myrtle and ivy of swuet two-and- 

twenty 
Are Tvorth all your laurels, though ever so 

plenty. 

What are garlands and crowns to the brow 
that is wrinkled ? 

'T is but as a dead flower with May-dew be- 
sprinkled. 

Then away with all such from the head that 
is hoary ! 

What care I for the wreaths that can only 
give glory ? 

fame ! if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
T was less for the sake of thy high-sounding 

phrases 
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one 

discover 
She thought that I was not unworthy to love 

her. 

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found 
thee; 

Her glance was the best of the rays that sur- 
round thee ; 

When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright 
in my story, 

1 knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. 

Lord Btkcn. 



LOVE UNREQUITED. 

Tnoron thou say'st thou lov'st me not, 

And although thou bidd'st me blot 

From my heart, and from my brain, 

All this consciousness of thee, 

With its longing, its blest pain. 

And its deathless memory 

Of the hope— ah, why in vain ?— 

That thy great heart might beat for me ;— 

Ask it not, — love fixed so high, 

Though unrequited, cannot die ; 

In my soul such love hath root. 

And the world shall have :he fruit. 

ANOKTi'MOUe. 



SONNET. 

Since there's i.o help, come, let us kiss and 

part ! 
Nay, I have done ; you get no more of me ^ 
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my hearty 
That thus so clearly I myself can free. 
Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, 
And when we meet at any time again 
Be it not seen, on either of our brows, 
TLdt we one jot of former love retain 
Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, 
When, his pulse failing, passion speechless 

lies. 
When faith is kneehng by his bed of death, 
And innocence is closing up his eyes ; 
Now, if thou wouldst, when aU have given 

him over, 
From death to life thou might'st him yet re- 
cover. 

Michael Deayton. 



JENNY KISSED ME. 

Jenny kissed me when we met, 

Jumping from the chair she sat in , 
Time, you thief! who love to get 

Sweets into your list, put that in. 
Say I 'm weary, say I 'm sad ; 
Say that health and wealth have missed rao ? 
Say I 'm growing old, but add — 

Jenny kissed me 1 

LEiGn Hunt. 



THE MAID'S LAMENT. 

I LOVED him not ; and yet, now he is gone, 

I feel I am alone. 
I checked him while he spoke ; yet, could he 
speak, 

Alas ! I would not check. 
For reasons not to love him once I sought. 

And wearied all my thought 
To vex myself and him ; I now would give 

My love, coidd he but live 
Who lately lived for me, and, when he found 

'T was vain, in holy ground 
He hid his face amid the shades of death 1 

I waste for him my breath 



BALLAD. 



287 



Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns, 

And this lone bosom burns 
With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep. 

And waking me to weep 
Tears that had melted his soft heart ; for years 

Wept he as bitter tears ! 
" Merciful God ! " such was his latest prayer, 

" These may she never share ! " 
Quieter is his breath, his breast mere cold 

Than daisies in the mould. 
Where children spell, athwart the churchyard 
gate, 

His name and life's brief date. 
Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er ye be, 

And oh ! pray, too, for me ! 

Walter Savage Landor. 



MISCONCEPTIONS. 

L 

This is a spray the bird clung to, 
Making it blossom with pleasure, 

Ere the high tree-top she sprung to, 
Fit for hor nest and her treasure. 
Oh, what a hope beyond measure 

Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet 
hung to, — 

So to be singled out, built in, and sung to ! 

n. 
This is a heart the queen leant on, 

Thrilled in a minute erratic. 
Ere the true bosom she bent on. 
Meet for love's regal dalmatic. 
Oh, what a fancy ecstatic 
Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer 

went on — 
Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent 
on! 

Egbert Browning. 



ONE WAY OF LOVE. 

L 

Ali. •June I bound the rose in sheaves ; 
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves, 
And strew them wlierc Pauline may pass. 
She will not turn aside ? Alas I 
Let them lie. Suppose they die? 
The chance was they might take her eye. 



II. 
How many a month I strove to suit 
These stabborn fingers to the lute ! 
To-day I venture all I know. 
She will not hear my music ? So ! 
Break the string — fold music's wing. 
Suppose Pauline had bade me sing ! 

m. 
My whole life long I learned to love ; 
This hour my utmost art I prove 
And speak my passion. — Heaven or hell ? 
She will not give me heaven ? 'T is well 
Lose who may — I still can say, 
Those who win heaven, blest are they. 

Robert Browkino. 



BALLAD. 

Sigh on, sad heart, for love's eclipae 

And beauty's fairest queen. 
Though 't is not for my peasant lips 

To soil her name between. 
A king might lay his sceptre down, 

But I am poor and naught ; 
The brow should wear a golden crown 

That w^ears her in its thought. 

The diamonds glancing in her hair, 

Whose sudden beams surprise. 
Might bid such humble hopes beware 

The glancing of her eyes ; 
Yet, looking once, I looked too long ; 

And if my love is sin. 
Death follows on the heels of wrong, 

And kills the crime within. 

Her dress seemed wove of hly leavea, 

It was so pure and fine — 
Oh lofty wears, and lowly weaves, 

But hodden gray is mine ; 
And homely hose must step apart, 

Where gartered princes stand; 
But may he wear my love at heart 

That wins her lily hand I 

Alas ! there 's far from russet frieze 

To silks and satin gowns ; 
But I doubt if God nuide Hke degroee 

In courtly hearts and clown«3L 



288 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



My father wronged a maiden's mirth, 
And brought her cheeks to blame ; 

And all that 's lordly of my birth 
Is ray reproach and shame ! 

'T is vain to weep, 't is vain to sigh, 

'T is vain this idle speech — 
For where her happy pearls do lie 

My tears may never reach ; 
Yet when I 'm gone, e'en lofty pride 

May say, of what has been. 
His love was nobly born and died, 

Tho' all the rest was mean ! 

My speech is rude, — but speech is weak 

Such love as mine to tell ; 
Yet had I words, I dare not speak : 

So, lady, fare thee well I 
I will not wish thy better state 

Was one of low degree. 
But I must weep that partial fate 

Made such a churl of me. 

Thomas Hour. 



THE DEEAM. 



OuE life is twofold : sleep hath its own world— 
A boundary between the things misnamed 
Death and existence : sleep hath its own woild. 
And a wide reahn af wild reality ; 
And dreams in their development have breath, 
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of 

joy; 
They leave a weight upon our waking 

thoughts ; 
They take a weight from off our waking toils ; 
They do divide our being ; they become 
A portion of ourselves as of our time. 
And look like heralds of eternity ; 
They pass like spirits of the past, — ^they speak 
Like sibyls of the future ; they have power — 
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain ; 
They make us what we were not — what they 

will; 
They shake us with the vision that 's gone by. 
The dread of vanished shadows — are they so ? 
Is not tlie past all shadow ? What are they? 
Creations of the mind? — the mind can make 
Substance, and people planets of its own 



With beings brighter than have been, and 

give 
A breath to forms which can outlive allfiesli. 
I would recall a vision, which I dreamed 
Perchance in sleep — for in itself a thoughf^ 
A slumbering thought, is capable of years, 
And curdles a Ions; life into one hour. 



u. 

I saw two beings in the hues of youth 

Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill. 

Green and of mild declivity ; the last, 

As 't were the cape, of a long ridge of such, 

Save that there was no sea to lave its base. 

But a most living landscape, and the wave 

Of woods and cornfields, and the abodes of 

men 
Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke 
Arising from such rustic roofs ; — the hill 
Was crowned with a peculiar diadem 
Of trees, in circular array — so fixed, 
Kot by the sport of nature, but of man. 
These two, a maiden and a youth, were tliere 
Gazing— the one on all that was beneath; 
Fair as herself — but the boy gazed on her; 
And both were young, and one was beautl- 

fid; 
And both were young— yet not alike in 

youth. 
As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge. 
The maid was on the eve of womanhood; 
The boy had fewer summers ; but his heart 
Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye 
There was but one beloved face on earth, 
And that was shining on him ; ho had looked 
Upon it till it could not pass away ; 
He had no breath, no being, but in hers; 
She was his voice ; he did not speak to her, 
But trembled on her words; she was his 

sight, 
For his eye followed hers, and saw with 

hers, 
Which colored all his objects ; — ^he had ceased 
To hve within himself; she was his hfe, 
The ocean to the river of his thcughts, 
Wliich terminated all ; upon a tone, 
A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and 

flow, 
And his cheek change tempestuously — ^hi.- 

heart 
Unknowing of its cause of agony. 



I 



i 



i 



THE DREAM. 



289 



But she in these fond feelings had no share : 
Her sighs were not for him ; to her he was 
Even as a brother — bnt no more; 'twas 

much ; 
For broth erless she was, save in the name 
Her infant friendship had bestowed on him — 
Herself the solitary scion left 
Of a time-honored race. — It was a name 
Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not 

— and why ? 
Time taught him a deep answer — when she 

loved 
Another. Even now she loved another ; 
And on the summit of that hill she stood 
Looking afar, if yet her lover's steed 
Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. 

ni. 
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
There was an ancient mansion ; and before 
Its walls there was a steed caparisoned. 
Within an antique oratory stood 
The boy of whom I spake ; — he was alone, 
And pale, and pacing to and fro. Anon 
He sate him down, and seized a pen and 

traced 
Words which I could not guess of; then he 

leaned 
His bowed head on his hands, and shook, as 

't were 
With a convulsion — then arose again : 
And with his teeth and quivering hands did 

tear 
What he had written ; but he shed no tears. 
And he did calm himself, and fix his brow 
Into a kind of quiet. As he paused, 
The lady of his love reentered there ; 
She was serene and smiling then ; and yet 
She knew she was by him beloved; she 

knew — 
How quickly comes such knowledge! that 

his heart 
Was darkened witli her shadow, and she saw 
That he was wretched; but she saw not all. 
He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp 
He took her hand ; a moment o'er his face 
A tablet of unutterable thoughts 
Was traced; and then it faded as it came. 
He dropped tlie hand he held, and Avith slow 

steps 
Retired ; but not as bidding her adieu, 
4L 



For they did part with mutual smilej^. He 

passed 
From out the massy gate of that old hall ; 
And, mounting on his steed, he went his way ; 
And ne'er repassed that hoary threshold 

more. 

IV. 

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The boy was sprung to manhood. In thr 

wilds 
Of fiery climes he made himself a home, 
And his soul drank their sunbeams ; he wa? 

girt 
With strange and dusky aspects ; he was not 
Himself like what he had been ; on the sea 
And on the shore he was a wanderer; 
There was a mass of many images 
Crowded like waves upon me, but he was 
A part of all ; and in the last he lay, 
Reposing from the noontide sultriness. 
Couched among fallen columns, in the shade 
Of ruined walls that had survived the names 
Of those who reared them ; by his sleeping 

side 
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds 
Were fastened near a fountain ; and a man 
Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while, 
While many of his tribe slumbered around ; 
And they were canopied by the blue sky — 
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful, 
That God alone was to be seen in heaven. 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The lady of his love was wed with que 
Who did not love her better. In her home, 
A thousand leagues from his, — her native 

home — 
She dwelt, begirt with growing infancy, 
Daughters and sons of beauty. But behold ! 
Upon her face there was the tint of grief, 
The settled shadow of an inward strife, 
And an unquiet drooping of the eye, 
As if its lids were charged with unshed tears. 
What could her grief be ? — She had all she 

loved ; 
And he who had so loved her was not there 
To trouble with bad hopes or evil wish. 
Or ill-repressed affection, her pure thoughts. 
What could her grief be ?— she had loved him 

not, 



2V)0 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



tTor given liim cause to deem himself be- 
loved ; 
N'or could lie be a part of that which preyed 
Upon her mind — a spectre of the past. 

VI, 

A. cliange came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The wanderer was returned — I saw him stand 
Before an altar, with a gentle bride ; 
Her face was fair; but was not that which 

made 
The starlight of his boyhood. As he stood, 
Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came 
The self-same aspect, and the quivering shock 
That in the antique oratory shook 
His bosom in its solitude ; and then — 
As in that hour — a moment o'er his face 
The tablet of unutterable tlioughts 
Was traced — and then it faded as it came ; 
And he stood calm and quiet ; and he spoke 
The fitting vows, but heard not liis own 

words ; 
dnd all things reeled around him ; he could 

see 
ISTot that which was, nor that which should 

have been — 
But the old mansion, and the accustomed 

hall. 
And the remembered chambers, and the 

place, 
The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the 

shade — 
All things pertaining to that place and hour, 
And her who was his destiny — came back 
And thrust themselves between him and the 

light; 
What business had they there at such a time ? 

vn. 

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The lady of his love — oh ! she was changed. 
As by the sickness of the soul ; her mind 
Had wandered from its dwelling; and her 

eyes. 
They had not their own lustre, bat the look 
Which is not of the earth ; she was become 
The queen of a fantastic realm ; her thoughts 
Were combinations of disjointed things, 
And forms impalpable, and unperceived 
Of others' sight, familiar were to hers. 



And this the world calls frenzy; but the 

wise 
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance 
Of melancholy is a fearful gift ; 
What is it but the telescope of truth ? 
Which strips the distance of its fantasies, 
And brings life near to utter nakedness, 
Making the cold reality too real ! 

vm. 
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream : 
The wanderer was alone, as heretofore ; 
The beings which surrounded him were gone 
Or were at war with him ; he was a mark 
For blight and desolation — compassed roand 
With hatred and contention ; pain was mixed 
In all which was served up to him ; until. 
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days. 
He fed on poisons ; and they had no power, 
But were a kind of nutriment. He lived 
Through that which had been death to many 

men; 
And made him friends of mountains. With 

the stars. 
And the quick spirit of the universe. 
He held his dialogues, and they did teach 
To him the magic of their mysteries ; 
To him the book of night was opened wide, 
And voices from the deep abyss revealed 
A marvel and a secret — Be it so. - 

My dream was past; it had no further 

change. 
It was of a strange order, that the doom 
Of these two creatures should be thus traced 

out 
Almost like a reality — the one 
To end in madness — both in misery. 

Lord Bykon. 



ASK ME NO MORE. 

Ask me no more : the moon may draw the 
sea; 
The cloud may stoop from heaven and take ' 

the shape. 
With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape. 
But, oh too fond, when have I answered thee? 
Ask me no more. 



IT MIGHT KAVE BEEN. 



29J 



ABk me no more : what answer should I give ? 

I love not hollow cheek or faded eye ; 

Yet, my friend, I will not have thee die ! 
Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live ; 
Ask me no more. 

Ask me no more : thy fate and mine are 
sealed. 
I strove against the stream and all in vain. 
Let the great river take me to the main. 
N'o more, dear love, for at a touch I yield ; 
Ask me no more ! 

Alfred Tennyson. 



WHEN WE TWO PARTED. 

When we two parted 

In silence and tears, 
Half broken-hearted. 

To sever for years. 
Pale grew thy cheek and cold. 

Colder thy kiss ; 
Truly that hour foretold 

Sorrow to this. 

The dew of the morning 

Sunk chill on my brow — 
It felt like the warning 

Of what I feel now. 
Thy vows are all broken. 

And light is thy fame ; 
I hear thy name spoken, 

And share in its shame. 

They name thee before me, 

A knell to mine ear ; 
A shudder comes o'er me — ■ 

Why wert thou so dear ? 
They know not I knew thee. 

Who knew thee too well. 
Long, long, shall I rue thee 

Too deeply to tell. 

In secret we met — 

In silence I grieve, 
That thy heart could forget, 

Tiiy spirit deceive. 



If I should meet thee 

After long years, 
How should I greet thee ?- — 

In silence and tears. 

Lord ByEoic, 



IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 

Ax August evening, on a balcony 
That overlooked a woodland and a lake, 
I sat in the still air, and talked with one 
Whose face shone fairer than the crescent 

moon. 
Just over-head, a violin and flute 
Played prelude to a dance. Their long- 
drawn chords 
Poured through the windows, gaping sum- 
mer-wide, 
A flood of notes that, flowing outward, swept 
To the last ripple of the orchard trees. 

I had not known her long, but loved hei 

more 
Than I could dream of then — oh, even now 
I dare not dwell upon my passion, — more 
Than life itself I loved her, and still love. 

The white enchantment of her dimpled hand 
Lay soft in mine ! I looked into her eyes ; 
I knew I was unworthy, but I felt 
That I was noble if she did but smile. 

A light of stars shone round her head ; I saw 
The sombre shores that gloomed the lake 

below ; 
The shadows settling on the distant hills ; 
I heard the pleasant music of the night, 
Brought by the wind, a vagrant messenger, 
From the deep forest and the broad, sweet 

lields. 

But when slic spoke, and lier pervasive voiee 

Stole on mo till I trembled to my knees, 

I pressed my lips to hers — then round nu 

glowed 
A sudden light, that seemed to flash me on, 
Beyond myself, beyond the fainting stars. 
Then all the bleak disheartenings of a Hfo 
That had not been of pleasure faded off, 



292 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



And left me with a purpose, and a hope 
That 1 was born for something braver than 
To hang mj head and wear a nameless name. 

That hour has passed, nor ever came again. 
We all do live such — so I would believe. 
Life's mere arithmetic and prose are mine. 
And I have missed the beauty of the world. 

Let this remembrance comfort me, — that 

when 
My heart seemed bursting — ^like a restless 

wave. 
That, swollen with fearful longing for the 

shore. 
Throws its strong life on the imagined bliss 
Of finding peace and undisturbed calm — 
It fell on rock and broke in many tears. 

Else could I bear, on all days of the year, 
Kot now alone — this gentle summer night, 
When scythes are busy in the headed grass. 
And the full moon warms me to thought- 
fulness, — 
This voice, that haunts the desert of my soul ; 
"It might have been," alas! "It might have 

been! " 

William Ckoss Williamson. 



WE PARTED IX SILEXCE. 

We parted in silence, we parted by night. 

On the banks of that lonely river; 
Where the fragrant limes their boughs unite, 

We met — and we parted for ever ! 
The night-bird sung, and the stars above 

Told many a touching story, 
Of friends long passed to the kingdom of 
love. 

Where the soul wears its mantle of glory. 

We parted in silence — our cheeks were wet 
With the tears that were past controlling ; 
We vowed we would never — no, never for- 
get. 
And those vows at the time were con- 
soling; 



But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine 
Are as cold as that lonely river ; 

And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine, 
Has shrouded its fires for ever. 

And now on the midnight sky I look, 

And my heart grows full of weeping ; 
Each star is to me a sealed book, 

Some tale of that loved one keeping. 
AYe parted in silence — we parted in tears, 

On the banks of that lonely river : 
But the odor and bloom of those by-gone 
years 

Shall hang o'er its waters for ever. 

Mes. Cbawpord. 



m A YEAR. 

Nevee any more 

WhHe I live, 
Need I hope to see his face 

As before. 
Once his love grown chill, 

Mine may strive- 
Bitterly we reembrace, 

Single still. 

Was it something said. 

Something done, 
Vexed him ? was it touch of hand. 

Turn of head ? 
Strange ! that very way 

Love begun. 
I as little understand 

Love's decay. 

When I sewed or drew, 

I recall 
How he looked as if I sang 

— Sweetly too. 
If I spoke a word. 

First of all 
Up his cheek the color sprang. 

Then he heard. 

Sitting by my side, 

At my feet. 
So he breathed the air I breathed. 

Satisfied ! 



MARIANA IN 


THE SOUTH. 29-^ 


I, too, at love's brim 


Dear, the pang is brief. 


Touched the sweet. 


Do thy part, 


I would die if death bequeathed 


Have thy pleasure. How perplext 


Sweet to him. 


Grows belief! 




Well, this cold clay clod 




Was man's heart. 


" Speak— I love thee best ! " 


Crumble it — and what comes next ? 


He exclaimed — 


Is it God? 


"Let thy love my own foretell." 


RoBEiiT Bbowmino 


I confessed : 
" Clasp my heart on thine 




4 


;N'ow unblamed, 




Since upon thy soul as well 


MARIANA m THE SOUTH. 


Hangeth mine ! " 


J, 


Was it wrong to own, 


With one black shadow at its feet, 


Being truth ? 


The house through all the level shines, 


Why should all the giving prove 


Close-latticed to the brooding heat, 


His alone ? 


And silent in its dusty vines ; 


I had wealth and ease. 


A faint-blue ridge upon the right, 


Beauty, youth — 


An empty river-bed before, 


Since my lover gave me love, 


And shallows on a distant shore, 


I gave these. 


In glaring sand and inlets bright. 




But " Ave Mary," made she moan. 


That was all I meant. 


And "Ave Mary," night and morn; 


—To be just. 
And the passion I had raised 


And " Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, 


To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 


To content. 


TT 


Since he chose to change 
Gold for dust. 


11. 

She, as her carol sadder grew. 


If I gave him what he praised 


From brow and bosom slowly down 


Was it strange? 


Through rosy taper fingers drew 


Her streaming curls of deepest brown 




To left and right, and made appear, 


Would he loved me yet. 


Still-lighted in a secret shrine. 


On and on. 


Her melancholy eyes divine. 


While I found some way undreamed 


The home of woe without a tear. 


— Paid my debt ! 


And "Ave Mary," was her moan. 


Gave more life and more, 


"Madonna, sad is night and morn ; '^ 


Till, all gone, 


And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone. 


He should smile " She never seemed 


To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 


Mine before. 


III. 
Till all the crimson changed, and passed 


" What — she felt the while, 


Must I think? 


Into deep orange o'er the sea, 


Love 's so different with us men,'- 


Low on her knees herself she cast, 


He should smile. 


Before Our Lady murmured she ; 


*^ Dying for my sake — 


Complaining, " Mother, give me grace 


White and pink ! 


To help me of my weary load I " 


Can \ we touch these bubbles then 


And on the liquid mirror glowed 


But they break?" 


The clear perfection of her face. 



£94 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



" Is this the form," she made lier moan, 
" That won his praises night and morn ?" 

And "Ah," she said, " but I wake alone, 
I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." 

IV. 

isTor bird would sing, nor kmb would bleat, 

'Nov any cloud would cross the vault ; 
But day increased from heat to heat. 

On stony drought and steaming salt ; 
Till now at noon she slept again. 
And seemed knee-deep in mountain grass. 
And heard her native breezes pass. 
And runlets babbling down the glen. 

She breathed in sleep a lower moan ; 

And murmuring, as at night and morn, 
She thought, "My spirit is here alone, 
Wallvs forgotten, and is forlorn." 

V. 

Dreaming, she knew it was a dream ; 
She felt he was and was not there. 
She woke : the babble of the stream 
Fell, and without the steady glare 
Sln*ank the sick olive sere and small. 
The river-bed was dusty white ; 
And all the furnace of the light 
Struck up against the blinding wall. 
She whispered, with a stifled moan 

More inward than at night or morn, 
" Sweet mother, let me not here alone 
Live forgotten, and die forlorn." 

VI. 

And, rising, from her bosom drew 

Old letters, breathing of her worth ; 
For "Love," they said, "must needs be true. 

To what is loveliest upon earth." 
An image seemed to pass the door. 
To look at her with slight, and say, 
" But now thy beauty flows away. 
Bo be alone for evermore." 

" cruel heart," she changed her tone, 
"And cruel love, whose end is scorn. 
Is this the end — to be left alone. 
To live forgotten, and die forlorn I " 

VII. 

But sometimes in the falling day 
An image seemed to pass the door, 

To look into her eyes and say, 
"But thou shalt be alone no more." 



And flaming downward over all, 

From heat to heat the day decreased, 
And slowly rounded to the east 
The one black shadow from the wall. 

" The day to night," she made her moaiJi, 
" The day to night, the night to morn 
And day and night I am left alone. 
To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 

VIII. 

At eve a dry cicala sung ; 

There came a sound as of the sea ; 
Backward the lattice-blind she flung, 

And leaned upon the balcony. 
There, all in spaces rosy-bright, 

Large Hesper glittered on her tears, 
And deepening through the silent spheres, 
Heaven over heaven, rose the night, 

And weeping then she made her moan, 
" The night comes on that knows not 
morn; 
When I shall cease to be all alone. 
To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 

AUTwED TeKKYQON 






SONG. 

" A WEAET lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green — 

Ko more of me you knew. 
My love ! 
No more of me you knew. 

" This morn is merry June, 1 trow — 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turned his charger as he spake. 

Upon the river shore ; 
He gave his bridle reins a shake. 

Said, " Adieu for evermore, 
My love ! 
And adieu for evermore." 

Sni Waltee Soon 



LOCKSLEY HALL. 



29c 



LOCKSLEY HALL. 

OoMEADES, leave me here a little, while as 

yet 't is early morn — 
Leave me here, and when you want me, sound 

upon the bugle horn. 

'T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the 

curlews call. 
Dreary gleams about the moorland, flying over 

Locksley Hall ; 

Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks 

the sandy tracts, 
And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into 

cataracts. 

Many a night from yonder ivied casement, 

ere I went to rest, 
Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to 

the west. 

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through 

the mellow shade, 
^ilitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a 

silver braid. 

Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing 

a youth sublime 
Witli the fairy tales of science, and the long 

result of time ; 

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful 
land reposed ; 

When I clung to all the present for the prom- 
ise that it closed ; 

When I dipt into the future far as human eye 
could see — 

Saw the vision of the world, and all the won- 
der that would be. 

In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the 
robin's breast ; 

1 1. The spring the wanton lapwing gets him- 
self another crest; 

ir the spring a livelier iris changes on the 

burnished dove ; 
In the spring a young man's fancy lightly 

turns to thoughts of lovo. 



Then her cheek was pale and thinner than 
should be for one so young, 

And her eyes on all my motions with a mut^; 
observance hung. 

And I said, " My cousin Amy, speak, and 

speak the truth to me ; 
Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being 

sets to thee." 

On her pallid cheek and forehead came n 

color and a light. 
As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the 

northern night. 

And she turned — ^her bosom shaken with a 

sudden storm of sighs — 
All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of 

hazel eyes — 

Saying, "I have hid my feelings, fearing they 
should do me wrong ; " 

Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?" weep- 
ing, '' I have loved thee long." 

Love took up the glass of time, and turned 

it in his glowing hands ; 
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in 

golden sands. 

Love took up the harp of life, and smote on 

all the chords with might ; 
Smote the chord of self, that, tremblmg, 

passed in music out of sight. 

Many a morning on the moorhuid did we lieai 

the copses ring, 
And her whisper thronged my pidses witi: 
. the fulness of the spring. 

Many an evening by the waters did we watcl" 

the stately ships, 
And our spirits rushed together at the touch 

ing of the lips. 

Oh my cousin, shallow-hearted! Oh ni> 

Amy, mine no more I 
Oh the dreary, dreary moorlaufl! Oh the 

barren, barren shoi*e ! 



2\i6 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all 

songs have sung — 
Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a 

shrewish tongue ! 

Is it well to wish thee happy ? — Shaving known 

me ; to decline 
On a range of lower feelings and a narrower 

heart than mine ! 

Yet it shall be : thou shalt lower to his level 

day by day. 
What is fine within thee growing coarse to 

sympathize with clay. 

As the husband is, the wife is; thou art 

mated with a clown. 
And the grossness of his nature will have 

weight to drag thee down. 

He will hold thee, when his passion shall 

have spent its novel force. 
Something better than his dog, a little dearer 

than his horse. 

What is this ? his eyes are heavy — think not 

they are glazed with wine. 
Go to him ; it is thy duty — ^kiss him ; take 

his hand in thine. 

It may be my lord is w^eary, that his brain is 

overwrought — 
Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him 

with thy lighter thought. 

He will answer to the purpose, easy things to 

understand — 
Better thou wert dead before me, though I 

slew thee with my hands. 

Better thou and I were lying, hidden from 

the heart's disgrace. 
Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in a 

last embrace. 

Oarsed be the social wants that sin against 

the strength of youth ! 
Cursed be the social lies that warp us from 

the living truth I 



Cursed be the sickly forms that err from 

honest nature's rule ! 
Cursed be the gold that gilds the straitened 

forehead of the fool ! 

Well — 't is well that I should bluster ! — Hadst 
thou lehs unworthy proved, 

Would to God — for I had loved thee more 
than ever wife was loved. 



Am I mad, that I should cherish that whicli 

bears but bitter fruit ? 
I will pluck it from my bosom, thougb my 

heart be at the root. 



4 



Never! though my mortal summers to such 

length of years should come 
As the many-wintered crow that leads the 

clanging rookery home. 

Where is comfort ? in division of the records 

of the mind ? 
Can I part her from herself, and love her, as 

I knew her, kind ? 

I remember one that perished ; sweetly did 

she speak and move ; 
Such a one do I remember, whom to look at 

was to love. 

Can I think of her as dead, and love her for 

the love she bore ? 
I^^o — she never loved me truly ; love is iovo 

for evermore. 

Comfort ? comfort scorned of devils ! this is 
truth the poet sings. 

That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remem- 
bering happier things. 

Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest 

thy heart be put to proof, 
In the dead, unhappy night, and when the 

rain is on the roof. 

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams; and thou art _ 

staring at the wall, 
Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the 

shadows rise and fall. 



LOCKSLEY HALL. 



297 



Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing 

to his drunken sleep, 
To thy widowed marriage- pillows, to the 

tears that thou wilt weep. 

Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whis- 
pered by the phantom years, 

And a song from out the distance in the ring- 
ing of thine ears ; 

And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient 

kindness on thy pain. 
Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow ; get thee 

to thy rest again. 

Nay, but nature brings thee solace; for a 

tender voice will cry; 
'T is a purer life than thine ; a lip to drain 

thy trouble dry. 

Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest 

rival brings thee rest — 
Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from 

the mother's- breast. 

Oh, the child, too, clothes the father with a 

dearness not his due ; 
Half IS thine, and half is his — it will be 

worthy of the two. 

Oh, 1 see thee, old and formal, fitted to thy 

petty part. 
With a littl-e hoard of maxims preaching down 

a daughter's heart : 

'They were dangerous guides the feelings — 
she herself was not exempt — 

Truly, she herself had suflered." — Perish in 
thy self-contempt ! 

Overlive it — lower yet — be happy! wherefore 

should I care ? 
[ myself must mix with action, lest I wither 

by despair. 

What is that which I should turn to, lighting 

upon days like these ? 
Every door is barred with gold, and opens 

but to golden keys. 



Every gate is thronged with suitors; all the 

markets overflow. 
I have but an angry fancy : what is that 

which I should do ? 

I had been content to perish, falling on the 

foeman's ground. 
When the ranks are rolled in vapor, and the 

winds are laid with sound. 

But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt 

that honor feels. 
And the nations do but murmur, snarling at 

each other's heels. 

Can I but relive in sadness ? I will turn that 
earlier page. 

Hide me from my deep emotion, thou won- 
drous mot her- age! 

Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt 

before the strife. 
When I heard my days before me, and the 

tumult of my life ; 

Yearning for the large excitement that the 
coming years would yield — 

Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves 
his father's field. 

And at night along the dusky highway near 

and nearer drawn, 
Sees in heaven the light of London flaring 

like a dreary dawn ; 

And his spirit leaps within him to be gone 

before him then, 
Underneath the light ho looks at, in among 

the throngs of men — 

Men, my brothers, men the workers, evoi 

reaping something new : 
That which they have done but earnest of the- 

things that they shall do ; 

For I dipt into the future, far as human eye 
could see — 

Saw the vision of the world, and all the won- 
der that would be — 



aos 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies 

of magic sails, 
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down 

with costly bales — 

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and 

there rained a ghastly dew 
From the nations' airy navies grappling in 

the central blue ; 

Far along the world-wide whisper of the 

south- wind rushing warm, 
With the standards of the peoples plunging 

through the thunder-storm ; 

Till the war-drum throbbed no longea*, and 

the battle-flags were furled 
In the parliament of man, the federation of 

the world. 

There the common sense of most shall hold a 

fretful realm in awe, 
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in 

universal law. 

So 1 triumphed, ere my passion sweeping 

through me, left me dry. 
Left me with the palsied heart, and left me 

with the jaundiced eye — 

Eye, to which all order festers, all things here 

are out of joint. 
Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping 

on from point to point ; 

Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, 

creeping nigher. 
Glares at one that nods and winks behind a 

slowly-dying fire. 

Yet I doubt not through the ages one increas- 
ing purpose runs. 

And the thoughts of men are widened with 
the process of the suns. 

What is that to him that reaps not harvest of 

his youthful joys. 
Though the deep heart of existence beat for 

ever like a boy's ? 



Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers; and I 

linger on the shore. 
And the individual withers, and the world is 

more and more. 

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and 

he bears a laden breast. 
Full of sad experience moving toward the 

stillness of bis rest. 



Hark ! my merr}^ comrades call me, sounding 
on the bugle horn — 

They to whom my foolish passion were a tar- 
get for their scorn ; 



s 

4 



Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a 

mouldered string ? 
I am shamed through all my nature to have 

loved so slight a thing. 

Weakness to be wroth with weakness! 

woman's pleasure, woman's pain — 
Nature made them blinder motions boundc^i 

in a shallower brain ; 

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy pas 

sions, matched with mine. 
Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as watei 

unto wine — 

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. 

Ah, for some retreat 
Deep in yonder shining orient, where my life 

began to beat ! 

Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father, 

evil-starred ; 
I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfisli 
uncle's ward. 

Or to burst all" links of habit — there to wan- 
der far away. 

On from island unto island at the gateway? 
of the day — 

Larger constellations burning, mellow moons , 

and happy skies, ^ 

Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, j 

knots of Paradise. I 



ORPHEUS TO BEASTS. 



299 



^ever comes the trader, never floats an Eu- 
ropean flag — 

Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, droops 
the trailer from the crag — 

Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs 

the heavy-fruited tree — 
Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple 

spheres of sea. 

There, methinks, would be enjoyment more 
than in this march of mind — 

In the steamship, in the railway, in the 
thoughts that shake mankind. 

There the passions, cramped no longer, shall 
have scope and breathing-space ; 

I will take some savage woman, she shall rear 
my dusky race. 

Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall div8^. 

and they shall run. 
Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl 

their lances in the sun 

Wliistle back the parrot's call, and leap the 
rainbows of the brooks, 

Mot with blinded eyesiglit poring over mis- 
erable books — 

Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I know 

my words are wild. 
But I count the gray barbarian lower than 

the Christian child. 

I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of 

our glorious gains, 
Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast 

with lower pains ! 

Mated with a squalid savage — what to me 

were sun or clime? 
I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files 

of time — 

I, that rather held it better men should perish 

one by one, 
Tliau that earth should stand at gaze like 

Joshua's moon in Ajalon ! 

N"ot in vain the distance beacons. Forward, 

forward let us range; 
f^t the great world spin forever down the 

ringing grooves of change. 



Through the shadow of the globe we sweep 

into the younger day : 
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of 

Cathay. 

Mother-age, (for mine I knew not,) help me 

as when life begun — 
Kift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the 

lightnings, weigh the sun — 

Oh, I see the crescent promise of my spirit 

hath not set ; 
Ancient founts of inspiration well through aU 

my fancy yet. 

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to 

Locksley Hall ! 
]^ow for me the woods may wither, now for 

me the roof -tree fall. 

Comes a vapor from the margin, blackeninii 

over heath and holt. 
Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast 

a thunderbolt. 

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain c-r hail, 

or fire or snow ; 

For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, 

and I go. 

Alfbed Tenn-^-son. 



ORPHEUS TO BEASTS. 

Here, here, oh here, Eurydice — 

Here was she slain — 
Her soul 'stilled through a vein ; 

The gods knew less 
That time divinity. 

Than ev'n, ev'n these 

Of brutishness. 

Oa could you view the melody 

Of every grace, 
x\nd music of her face, 

You 'd drop a tear ; 
Seeing more harmony 

In her bright eye, 

Than now you hoar. 

RiCHABD Lovelace. 



aoo 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



OH THAT 'TWERE POSSIBLE. 



Oh that 't were possible, 
After long grief and pain, 
To find the arms of my true love 
Round me once again 1 



When I was wont to meet her 
In the silent woody places 
Of the land that gave me birth, 
We stood tranced in long embraces 
Mixt with kisses sweeter, sweeter 
Than anything on earth. 



A shadow flits before me, 

Not thou, but like to thee ; 

Ah Christ, that it were possible 

For one short hour to see 

The souls we loved, that they might tell us 

What and where they be ! 

IV. 

It leads me forth at evening, 

It lightly winds and steals 

In a cold white robe before me. 

When all my spirit reels 

At the shouts, the leagues of lights. 

And the roaring of the wheels. 

V. 

Half the night I waste in sighs. 
Half in dreams I sorrow after 
The delight of early skies ; 
In a wakeful doze I sorrow 
For the hand, the lips, the eyes — 
For the meeting of the morrow. 
The delight of happy laughter. 
The delight of low replies. 

VI. 

'T is a morning pure and sweet, 
And a dewy splendor falls 
On the little flower that clings 
To the turrets and the walls ; 
'Tis a morning pure and sweet, 
And the light and shadow fleet ; 
She is walking in the meadow, 



And the woodland echo rings 
In a moment we shaU meet ; 
She is singing in the meadow, 
And the rivulet at her feet 
Ripples on in light and shadov/ 
To the ballad that she sings. 



Do I hear her sing as of old. 
My bird with the shining head. 
My own dove with the tender eye ? 
But there rings on a sudden a pap.'^ionate 

cry — 
There is some one dying or dead ; 
And a sullen thunder is rolled ; 
For a tumult shakes the city. 
And I wake— my dream is fled ; 
In the shuddering dawn, behold. 
Without knowledge, without pity, 
By the curtains of my bed 
That abiding phantom cold ! 

VIII. 

Get thee hence, nor come again ! 
Mix not memory with doubt. 
Pass, thou deathlike type of pain, 
Pass and cease to move about ! 
'Tis the blot upon the brain 
That will show itself without. 



Then I rise; the eave-drops fall, 
And the yellow vapors choke 
The great city sounding wide ^ 
The day comes— a dull red ball 
Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke- 
On the misty river-tide. 

Through the hubbub of the market 

I steal, a wasted frame ; 

It crosses here, it crosses there. 

Through all that crowd confused and loud 

The shadow still the same ; 

And on ray heavy eyelids 

My anguish hangs like shame. 

XI. 

Alas for her that met me. 
That heard me softly call, 
Came ghmmering through tlie lanrols 



THE BLOOM HATH FLED THY CHEEK, MARY. 



801 



At the quiet evenfall, 

In the garden by the turrets 

Of the old manorial hall! 

XII. 

Would the happy spirit descend 
From the realms of light and song, 
In the chamber or the street, 
As she looks among the blest, 
Should I fear to greet my friend 
Or to say "Forgive the wrong," 
Or to ask her, " Take me, sweet. 
To the regions of thy rest ? " 

XIII. 

But the broad light glares and beats, 

And the shadow flits and fleets 

And will not let me be ; 

And I loathe the squares and streets, 

And the faces that one meets. 

Hearts with no love for me ; 

Always I long to creep 

Into some still cavern deep. 

There to weep, and weep, and weep 

My whole soul out to thee. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



SONNET. 

Why art thou silent ! Is thy love a plant 
Of such weak flbre that the treacherous air 
Of absence withers what was once so fair ? 
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ? 

Y"et have my thoughts for thee been vigilant 
(As would my deeds have been) with hourly 

care, 
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
For nought but what thy happiness could 

spare. 

Speak ! though this soft warm heart, once free 

to hold 

A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine. 

Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 

Than a forsaken bird's-nest, fllled with snow 

'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine ; 

Speak, that my torturing doubts their end 

may know I 

William WoBrswoBTH. 



THE BLOOM HATH FLED THY CHEEK 
MARY. 

; The bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary, 
As spring's rath blossoms die ; 
And sadness hath overshadowed now 

Thy once bright eye ; 
But look ! on me the prints of grief 
Still deeper lie. 
Farewell ! 

Thy lips are pale and mute, Mary ; 

Thy step is sad and slow ; 
The morn of gladness hath gone by 

Thou erst did know ; 
I, too, am changed like thee, and weep 

For very woe. 

Farewell ! 

It seems as 'twere but yesterday 

We were the happiest twain. 
When murmured sighs and joyous tears, 

Dropping like rain, 
Discoursed my love, and told how loved 

I was again. 

Farewell ! 

'T was not in cold and measured phi'asc 

We gave our passion name ; 
Scorning such tedious eloquence, 

Our hearts' fond flame 
And long-imprisoned feelings fast 

In deep sobs came. 
Farewell ! 

Would that our love had been the love 
That merest worldlings know. 

When passion's draught to our doomed lips 
Turns utter woe. 

And our poor dream of happiness 
Vanishes so ! 

Farewell ! 

But in the wreck of all our hopes 
There 's yet some touch of bliss, 

Shico fate robs not our wretchedness 
Of this last kiss : 

Despair, and love, and madness meof. 
In this, in this. 
Farewell ! 

William MoTHCUTncLL. 



S02 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



VYALT, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY. 

On waly, waly up the bank, 
And waly, waly down the brae. 

And waly, waly yon burn side, 
Where I and my love wont to gae. 

I leaned my back unto an aik, 
I thought it was a trusty tree ; 

But first it bowed, and syne it brak — 
Sae my true love did lightly me ! 

Oh waly, waly, but love be bonny, 

A little time while it is new ; 
But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld. 

And fades away like the morning dew. 

Oh wherefore should I busk my head ? 

Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? 
For my true love has me forsook. 

And says he. '11 never love me mair. 

Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed ; 

The sheets shall ne'er be fyled by me ; 
Saint Anton's Avell shall be my drink, 

Since my true love has forsaken me. 

Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 
And shake the green leaves off the tree ? 

O gentle death, when wilt thou come ? 
For of my life I 'm weary. 

'T is not the frost that freezes fell. 
Nor blawing snaw's inclemency ; 

'T is not sic cauld that makes me cry, 
But my love's heart grown cauld to me. 

When we came in by Glasgow town. 
We were a comely sight to see ; 

My love was clad in the black velvet. 
And I my sell in cramasie. 

But had I wist, before I kissed, 
That love had been sae ill to win, 

[ 'd locked my heart in a case of gold. 
And pinned it with a silver pin. 

Oh, oh, if my young babe were born, 
And set upon the nurse's knee. 

And I my sell were dead and gane. 
And the green grass growin' over me ! 

AlxONYMOUS. 



JEANIE MORRISON. 

I'VE wandered east, I've v^andered west, 

Through mony a weary way ; 
But never, never can forget 

The luve o' life's young day ! 
The fire that 's blawn on Beltane e'en 

May weel be black gin Yule ; 
But blacker fa' awaits the heart 

Where first fond luve grows cule. 

dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, 
The thochts o' bygane years 

Still fling their shadows ower my path, 

And blind my een wi' tears : 
They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears. 

And sair and sick I pine. 
As memory idly summons up 

The blithe blinks o' langsyne. 

'T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, 

'T was then we twa did part ; 
Sweet time — sad time ! twa bairns at soule, 

Twa bairns, and but ae heart ! 
'T was then we sat on ae laigh bink, 

To leir ilk ither lear ; 
And tones and looks and smiles were shcd^ 

Remembered evermair. 

1 wonder, Jeanie, aft en yet, 

When sitting on that bink. 
Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof, 

What our wee heads could think. 
When baith bent doun ower ae braid page, 

Wi' ae bulk on our knee. 
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but 

My lesson was in thee. 

Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads, 

How cheeks brent red wf shame. 
Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin', said 

We cleeked thegither hame ? 
And mind ye o' the Saturdays, 

(The scule then skail't at noon,) 
When we ran off to speel the braes, — 

The broomy braes o' June ? 

My head rins round and round about — 

My heart flows like a sea, 
As ane by ane the thochts rush back 

0' scule-tim^ and o' thee. 



MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. 



Of\U 



Oh mornln' life ! oh mornin' hive ! 

Oh hchtsome days and lang, 
When hinnied hopes around our hearts 

Like simmer hlossoms spraug ! 

Oh, mind ye, luve, how aft we left 

The deavin' din some toun, 
To wander by the green burnside. 

And hear its waters croon ? 
The simmer leaves hung ower our heads, 

The flowers burst round our feet, 
And in the gl oamin o' the wood 

The throssil whusslit sweet ; 

The throssil whusslit in the wood, 

The burn sang to the trees — 
And we, with nature's heart in tune, 

Concerted harmonies ; 
And on the knowe abune the burn 

For hours thegither sat 
In the silentriess o' joy, till baith 

Wi' very gladness grat. 

Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, 

Tears trinkled doun your cheek 
Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane 

Had ony power to speak ! 
That was a time, a blessed time. 

When Jiearts were fresh and young, 
When freely gushed all feelings forth, 

Unsyllabled — unsung ! 

I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, 

Gin I hae been to thee 
As closely twined wi' earliest thochts 

As ye hae been to me ? 
Oh, tell me gin their music fills 

Thine ear as it does mine ! 
Oh. say gin e'er your heart grows grit 

Wi' dreamings o' langsyne ? 

I Ve wandered east, I 've wandered west, 

1 'vo borne a weary lot ; 
But in my wanderings, fai or near, 

Ye never were forgot. 
The fount that first burst frae this heart 

Still travels on its way ; 
And channels deeper, as it rins, 

The luve o' life's young day. 



dear, dear Jeanie Mornson, 
Since we were sindered young 

1 've never seen your face nor heard 

The music o' your tongue ; 
3ut I could hug all wretchedness. 

And happy could I die, 
Did I but ken your heart still dreamed 

0' bygone days and me ! 

William Mothekwbli. 



MY HEID IS LIKE TO REIS^D, WILLIE 

My heid is hke to rend, Willie — 

My heart is like to break ; 
I 'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie — 

I 'm dyin' for your sake ! 
Oh, lay your cheek to mine, Wilhe, 

Your hand on my briest-bane, — 
Oh, say ye '11 think on me, Willie, 

When I am deid and gane ! 

It 's vain to comfort me, Willie — 

Sair grief maun ha'e its will ; 
But let me rest upon your briest 

To sab and greet my fill. 
Let me sit on your knee, Willie — 

Let me shed by your hair. 
And look into the face, Willie, 

I never sail see mair ! 

I 'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, 

For the last time in my life, — 
A puir heart-broken thing, Willie^ 

A mither, yet nae wife. 
Ay, press your hand upon my heart 

And press it mair and mair, — 
Or it will burst the silken twine, 

Sae Strang is its despair. 

Oh, wac 's me for the hour, Willie, 

When we thegither met— 
Oh, wae 's me for the time, Willie, 

That our first tryst was set ! 
Oh, wae 's me for the loanin' greeu 

Where we were wont to gae, — 
And wae 's me for the destinie 

That gart me luve thee sae I 



804 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Oh, dinna mind my words, Willie — 

I downa seek to blanre ; 
But oh, it 's hard to live, Willie, 

And dree a warld's shame ! 
Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek, 

And hailin' ower your chin : 
Why weep ye sae for worthlessness, 

For sorrow, and for sin ? 

I 'm weary o' this warld, Willie, 

And sick wi' a' I see, 
I canna live as I ha'e lived. 

Or be as I should be. 
But fauld unto your heart, Willie, 

The heart that still is thine, — 
And kiss ance mair the white, white 
cheek 

Ye said was red langsyne. 

A stoun' gaes through my held, Willie — 

A sair stoun' through my heart ; 
Oh, hand me up and let me kiss 

Thy brow ere we twa pairt. 
Anither, and anither yet ! — 

How fast my life-strings break ! — 
Fare we el ! fareweel ! through yon kirk- 
yard 

Step lichtly for my sake ! 

The lav'rock in the lift, Willie, 

That lilts far ower our held. 
Will sing the morn as merrilie 

Abune the clay-cauld deid ; 
And this green turf we 're sittin' on, 

Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen, 
Will hap the heart that luvit thee 

As warld has seldom seen. 

But oh, remember me, Willie, 

On land where'er ye be— 
And oh, think on the leal, leal heart. 

That ne'er luvit ane but thee ! 
And oh, think on the cauld, cauld mods 

That file my yellow hair, — 
That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin 

Ye never sail kiss mair ! 

William Motherwell. 



THE EOSE AND THE GAUKTLET. 

Low spake the knight to the peasant-gin, — 
" I tell thee sooth, I am belted earl ; 
Fly with me from this garden small, 
And thou shalt sit in my castle's hall ; 

''Thou shalt have pomp, and wealth, and 

pleasure, 
Joys beyond thy fancy's measure ; 
Here with my sword and horse I stand. 
To bear thee away to my distant land. ^ 

"Take, thou fairest ! this full-blown rose, 
A token of love that as ripely blows." 
With his glove of steel he plucked the token. 
But it fell from his gauntlet crushed and 
broken. 

The maiden exclaimed, — "Thou seest, sir 
knight. 

Thy fingers of iron can only smite ; 

And, like the rose thou hast torn and scat- 
tered, 

I in thy grasp should be wrecked and shat- 
tered." 

She trembled and blushed, and her glances 

fell; 
But she turned from the knight, and said, 

"Farewell!" 
" Kot so," he cried, " will I lose my prize ; 
I heed not thy words, but I read thine eyes.'' 

He lifted her up in his grasp of steel. 

And he mounted and spurred with furiouiL 

heel ; 
But her cry drew forth her hoary sire. 
Who snatched his bow from above the fire. 

Swift from the valley the warrior fed, 
Swifter the bolt of the cross-bow sped ; 
And the weight that pressed on the fleet 

foot horse 
Was the living man, and the woman's corse. 

That morning the rose was bright of hue; 
That morning the maiden was fair to view ; 
But the evening sun its beauty shed 
On the withered leaves, and the maiden dead. 

John Steklino. 



MAUD MULLER. 



805 



MAUD MULLER. 

Matjd Mullee, on a summer's day, 
Baked the meadow siveet witli hay. 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But, when she glanced to the far-off town. 
White from its hill-slope looking down. 

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing filled her breast — 

A wish, that she hardly dared to own. 
For something better than she had known. 

The judge rode slowly down the lane. 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 

Ho drew his bridle in the shade 

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid. 

And ask a draught from the spring that 

flowed 
Through the meadow, across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled 

up, 
And filled for him her small tin cup. 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

" Thanks ! " said the judge, " a sweeter 

draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed." 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees; 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered 

whether 
Che cloud in the west would bring foul 

weather. 

43 



And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, 
And her graceful ancles, bare and brown, 

And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel-eyea. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 

Maud MuUer looked and sighed : '' Ah me ! 
That I the judge's bride might be! 

"He would dress me up in silks so fine, 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat, 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 

"I 'd dress my mother so grand and gay. 
And the baby should have a new toy eacl" 
day. 

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe tht 

poor. 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

The judge looked back as he climbed the hill^ 
And saw Maud Muller standing still : 

" A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 

"And her modest answer and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

" Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay. 

"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tonguea, 

" But low of cattle, and song of birds. 
And health, and quiet, and loving words." 

But he thought of his sister, proud and cold 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the judge rode oc, 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
When he hummed in court an old love tuuo: 



306 



FOEMS OF LOYE. 



And the young girl mnsed beside the well, 
Pill the rain on the nnraked clover fell. 

He wedded a wife of richest dower, 
Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow. 
He watched a picture come and go ; 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

Offc, when the wine in his glass was red, 
He longed for the wayside well instead, 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms. 
To dream of meadows and clover blooms ; 

And the proud man sighed with a secret pain, 
^^ Ah, that I were free again ! 

" Free as when I rode that day 

Where the barefoot maiden raked the hay." 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
And many children played round her door. 

But care and sorrow, and child-bh^th pain, 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot. 

And she heard the little spring brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall. 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein. 

And, gazing down. with a timid grace, 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls ; 

Tlie weary wheel to a spinnet turned, 
Tlie tallow candle an astral burned ; 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug. 
Oozing And grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 



A manly form at her side she saw, 
And joy was duty and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life agalu* 
Saying only, "It might havp been." 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge I 

God pity them both ! and pity us all. 
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall ; 

Por of all sad words of tongue or pen, 

The saddest are these: '' It might have been ! '- 

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes ; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 
EoU the stone from its grave away ! 

John Geeenleap "WHrmKiw 



AULD EOBIK GRAY. 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye 

at hame, 
And a' the warld to sleep are gane; 
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my 

ee. 
When my gudeman lies sound by me. 

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and socht me for 
his bride ; 

But, saving a croun, he had naething elso be- 
side. 

To mak that croun a pund, young Jamie gaed 
to sea ; 

And the croun and the pund were baith for 
me! 

He hadna been awa a week but only twa, 
When my mother she feU sick, and the cow 

was stown awa ; 
My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at 

the sea— 
And auld Eobin Gray cam' a-courtin' me. 



BERTHA IN THE LANE. 



307 



My father cou'dna work, and mj mother 

cou'dna spin ; 
I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I 

cou'dna win ; 
Auld Eob maintained them baith, and, wi' 

tears in his ee. 
Bald, *^ Jenny, for their sakes, oh marry me 1 " 

Uj heart it said nay, for I- looked for Jamie 

back; 
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it 

was a wrack ; 
The ship it was a wrack ! Why didna Jamie 

dee? 
Or, why do I live to say, Wae 's me ? 



My father argued sair — my mother didna 

speak, 
But she lookit in my face till my licart was 

like to break ; 
Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart 

was in the sea ; 
And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me. 



1 hadna been a wife, a week but only four, 
When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I con'dna think 

it he, 
Till he said, " I 'm come back for to marry 

thee!" 



Oh sair, sair did wc greet, and muckle did 

we say ; 
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves 

away : 
I wish I were dead, but I 'm no like to dee ; 
And why do I live to say, Wae 's me ? 

1 gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; 
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a 

sin ; 
iiiit I '11 do my best a gudo wife to be. 
For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me. 

Lady Anne Baenabd. 



BERTHA I^ THE LANE. 

Put the broidery-frame away, 
- For my sewing is all done ! 
The last thread is used to-day, 

And I need not join it on. 

Though the clock stands at the noon, 

I am weary ! I have sewn, 

Sweet, for thee, a wedding-gown. 

Sister, help me to the bed. 

And stand near me, dearest-sweet I 

Do not shrink nor be afraid. 
Blushing with a sudden heat! 
No one standeth in the street ! — 
By God's love I go to meet. 
Love I tliee with love complete. 

Lean thy face down ! drop it in 
These two hands, that I may hold 

'Twixt their palms thy cheek and chin, 
Stroking back the curls of gold. 
'T is a fair, fair face, in sooth — 
Larger eyes and redder mouth 
Than mine were in my first youth ! 

Thou art younger by seven years — 
Ah! — so bashful at my gaze 

That the lashes, hung with tears. 
Grow too heavy to upraise ? 
I would wound thee by no touch 
Which thy shyness feels as such — 
Dost thou mind me, dear, so much ? 

Have I not been nigh a mother 
To thy sweetness— tell me, dear ? 

Have we not loved one another 
Tenderly, from year to year ? 
Since our dying mother mild 
Said, with accents undefiled, 
" Child, be mother to this child I " 

Mother, mother, up in heaven. 
Stand up on the jasper sea. 

And bo witness I have given 
All the gifts required of me ; — 
Hope that blessed me, bliss that crownal 
Love that left me with a wound. 
Life itself, that turned around 1 



*^08 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Mother, mother, thou art kind, 
Thou art standing in the room, — 

Tn a molten glory shrined. 
That rays off into the gloom ! 
But thy smile is bright and bleak, 
Like cold waves — I cannot speak ; 
I sob in it, and grow weak. 

Ghostly mother, keep aloof 

One hour longer from my soul — 

For I still am thinking of 
Earth's warm-beating joy and dole ! 
On my finger is a ring 
Which I still see glittering. 
When the night hides every thing. 

Little sister, thou art pale ! 

Ah, I have a wandering brain — 
But I lose that fever-bale. 

And my thoughts grow calm again. 

Lean down closer — closer still ! 

I have words thine ear to fill, — 

And would kiss thee at my will. 

Dear, I heard thee in the spring. 
Thee and Eobert — through the trees, — 

When we all went gathering 
Boughs of May-bloom for the bees. 
Do not start so ! think instead 
How the sunshine overhead 
Seemed to trickle through the shade. 

What a day it was, that day ! 

Hills and vales did openly 
Seem to heave and throb away, 

At the sight of the great sky ; 

And the silence, as it stood 

In the glory's golden flood. 

Audibly did bud — and bud ! 

Through the winding hedgerows green. 
How we wandered, I and you, — 

With the bowery tops shut in. 
And the gates that showed the view — 
How we talked there ! tlirushes soft 
Sang our pauses out, — or oft 
Bleatings took them, from the croft. 

rill the pleasure, grown too strong, 

Left me muter evermore ; 
And, the winding road being long, 

T walked out of sight, before ; 



And so, wrapt in musings fond, 
Issued (past the wayside pond) 
On the meadow-lands beyond. 

I sat down beneath the beech 
Which leans over to the lane. 

And the far sound of your speech 
Did not promise any pain ; 
And I blessed you, full and free, 
With a smile stooped tenderly 
O'er the May-flowers on my knee. 

But the sound grew into word 
As the speakers drew more near — 

Sweet, forgive me that I heard 
What you wished me not to hear. 
Do not weep so — do not shake — 
Oh, — I heard thee. Bertha, make 
Good true answers for my sake. 

Yes, and he too ! let him stand 

In thy thoughts, untouched by blamo. 

Could he help it, if my hand 
He had claimed with hasty claim ! 
That was wrong perhaps — but then 
Such things be — and will, again ! 
Women cannot judge for men. 

Had he seen thee, when he swore 
He would love but me alone ? 

Thou wert absent — sent before 
To our kin in Sidmouth town. 
When he saw thee, who art best 
Past compare, and loveliest. 
He but judged thee as the rest. 

Could we blame him with grave wordhi 
Tliou and I, dear, if we might? 

Thy brown eyes have looks like birds 
Flying straightway to the hght ; 
Mine are older. — Hush! — look out-— 
Up the street ! Is none without ? 
How the poplar swings about ! 

And that hour — ^beneath the beech- • 
When I listened in a dream. 

And he said, in his deep speech. 
That he owed me all esteem — 
Each word swam in on my braiii 
With a dim, dilating pain, 
Till it burst with that last stram — 



i 



BERTHA IN THE LANE. 



309 



I foil flooded with a dark, 
In the silence of a swoon — 

When I rose, still, cold and stark. 
There was night — I saw the moon ; 
And the stars, each in its place. 
And the May-hlooms on the grass, 
Seemed to wonder what I was. 

And I walked as if apart 
From myself when I could stand — 

And I pitied my own heart, 
As if I held it in my hand — 
Somewhat coldly — with a sense 
Of fulfilled benevolence. 
And a "Poor thing" negligence. 

And I answered coldly too, 
When you met me at the door ; 

And I only heard the dew 
Dripping from me to the floor ; 
And the flowers I bade you see, 
Were too withered for the bee — 
As my life, henceforth, for me. 

Do not weep so — dear — heart- warm ! 
It was best as it befell! 

l( I say lie did me harm, 
I speak wild — I am not well. 
All his words were kind and good — 
He esteemed me ! Only blood 
Runs so faint in womanhood. 

Then I always was too grave — 
Liked the saddest ballads sung — 

With that look, brides, we have 
In our faces, who die young. 
I had died, dear, all the same — 
Life's long, joyous, jostling game 
Is too loud for my meek shame. 

We are so unlike each other. 
Thou and I ; that none could guess 

We were children of one mother. 
But for mutual tenderness. 
Thou art rose-lined from the cold, 
And meant, verily, to hold 
Life's pure pleasures manifold. 

I am pale as crocus grows 
Close beside a rose-treo's root ! 

Whusoe'er' would reach the rose, 
Treads the crocus underfoot — 



I, like May-bloom on thorn tree- 
Thou, like merry summer-bee ! 
Fit, that I be plucked for thee. 

Yet who plucks me? — no one mourus- 
I have lived my season out — 

And now die of my own thorns. 
Which I could not live without. 
Sweet, be merry ! How the light 
Comes and goes ! If it be night, 
Keep the candles in my sight. 

Are there footsteps at the door ? 
Look out quickly. Yea, or nay ? 

Some one might be waiting for 
Some last word that I might say. 
Kay ? So best ! — So angels would 
Stand ofi" clear from deathly road— 
]^ot to cross the sight of God. 

Colder grow my hands and feet — 
AYhen I wear the shroud I made, 

Let the folds lie straight and neat. 
And the rosemary be spread — 
That if any friend should come, 
(To see thee, sweet !) all the room 
May be lifted out of gloom. 

And, dear Bertha, let me keep 
On my hand this little ring, 

Which at nights, when others sleep, 
I can still see glittering. 
Let me wear it out of sight, 
In the grave — where it will light 
All the dark up, day and nighty 

On that grave, drop not a tear! 

Else, though fathom- deep the place. 
Through the woollen shroud I wear 

I shall feel it on my face. 

Rather smile there, blessed one, 

Thinking of me in the sun — 

Or forget me — smiling on ! 

Art thou near me? nearer? so! 
Kiss me close upon the eyes, 

That the earthly light may go 
Sweetly as it used to rise — 
When I watched the morning graj 
Strike, betwixt the hills, the way 
He was sure to come that day. 



no 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



So — ^no more vain words be said ! 
The hosannas nearer roll — 

Mother smile now on thy dead — 
I am death- strong in my soul ! 
Mystic Dove alit on cross, 
Guide the poor bird of the snows 
Through the snow- wind above loss ! 

Jesus, victim, comprehending 

Love's divine self-abnegation- 
Cleanse my love in its self-spending, 
And absorb the poor libation ! 
Wind my thread of life up higher, 
Up through angels' hands of fire ! — 
I aspire while I expire! — 

Elizabeth Bareett Bkownlng. 



THEK. 



I GIVE thee treasures hour by hour. 
That old-time princes asked in vain, 
And pined for in their useless power, 
Or died of passion's eager pam. 

[ give thee love as God gives light, 
Aside from merit, or from prayei, 
Rejoicing in its own delight, 
And freer than the lavish air. 

I give thee prayers, like jewels strung 
On golden threads of hope and fear ; 
And tenderer thoughts than ever hung 
In a sad angel's pitying tear. 

As earth pours freely to the sea 
Her tliousand streams of wealth untold, 
So flows my silent life to thee. 
Glad that its very sands are gold. 

What care I for thy carelessness ? 
I give from depths that overflow, 
Regardless that their power to bless 
Thy spirit cannot sound or know. 

Far lingering on a distant dawn 
My triumph shines, more sweet than late ; 
When from these mortal mists withdrawn, 
Tliy lieart shall know me — I can wait. 

BoBE Terry. 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. 

Come, dear children, let us away 1 

Down and away below. 
Kow my brothers call from the bay ; 
I^ow the great winds shore wards blow ; 
i^ow the salt tides seaward flow ; 
Now the wild white horses play, 
Champ and cliaff and toss in the spra}\ 

Children dear, let us away ; 
This way, this way. 

Call her once before you go. 

Call once yet, 
In a voice that she will know : 

^' Margaret ! Margaret ! " 
Children's voices should be dear 
(Call once more) to a mother's ear ; 
Children's voices wild with pain. 

Surely, she will come again. 
Call her once, and come away ; 

This way, this way. 
"Mother dear, we cannot stay," 
The wild white horses foam and fret, 

Margaret! Margaret! 

Come, dear children, come away down. 

Call no more. 
One last look at the white-walled town, 
And the little gray church on the windy shore 

Then come down. 
She will not come, though you call all day. 

Come away, come away. 

Children dear, was it yesterday 

We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? 
In the caverns where we lay. 
Through the surf and through the swell, 

The far-ofl' sound of a silver bell '? 

Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep. 

Where the winds are all asleep ; 

Where the spent lights quiver and gleam ; 

Where the salt weed sways in the stream ; 

Where the sea-beasts ranged all around 

Feed in the ooze of their pasture ground ; 

Where the sea-snakes coil and twine. 

Dry their mail, and bask in the brine ; 

Where great whales come sailing by. 

Sail and sail, with unshut eye. 

Round the world forever and aye ? 

When did music come this way ? 
Children dear, was it yesterday ? 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. 



311 



Children dear, was it yesterday 
(Call yet once) that she went away? 
Once she sat with you and me, 

On a red gold throne in the heart of the 

sea. 
And the youngest sat on her knee. 
Hho combed it? bright liair and she tended it 

well, 
Wlien down swung the sound of the far-off 

bell; 
She sighed, she looked up through the clear 

green sea ; 
She said, " I must go, for my kinsfolk pray 
In the little gray church on the shore to-day. 
'T will be Easter-time in the world — ah me ! 
And I lose my poor soul, merman, here with 

thee." 
I said, ''' Go up, dear heart, through the waves ; 
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind 

sea-caves." 
She smiled, she went up through the surf in 

the bay ; 
Children dear, was it yesterday ? 

Children dear, were we long alone? 
^' The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; 
Long prayers," I said, " in the world they say. 
Come," I said, and we rose through the surf 

in the bay. 
We went up the beach in the sandy down 
Where the sea-stocks bloom, tc the white- 
walled town. 
Through the narrow-paved streets, where all 

was still. 
To the little gray church on the windy hill. 
From the church came a murmur of folk at 

their prayers. 
But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. 
We chmbed on the graves, on the stones worn 

with rains. 
And we gazed up the aisle through the small 
leaded panes. 
She sat by the pillar ; we saw her clear ; 
" Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here. 
Dear heart," I said, " we are here alone. 
The sea grows stormy, the little ones 
moan." 
But ah, she gave me never a look. 
For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. 
" Loud prays the priest ; shut stands the 
door." 



Come away, children, call no more, 
Come away, com.e down, call no more. 

Down, down, down, 

Down to the depths of the sea; 
She sits at her wheel in the humming town 

Singing most joyfully. 
Hark what she sings : ^' Oh joy, oh joy. 
For the humming street, and the child with 

its toy, 
For the priest and the bell, and the holy 
well. 

For the wheel w^here I spnn. 

And the blessed light of the sun." 

And so she sings her fill. 

Singing most joyfully, 

Till the shuttle falls from her hand. 

And the whizzing wheel stands still. 
She steals to the window and looks at the 
sand ; 

xind over the sand at the sea; 

And her eyes are set in a stare ; 

And anon there breaks a sigh, 

And anon there drops a tear, 

From a sorrow-clouded eye, 

And a heart sorrow-laden, 
A long, long sigh. 
For the cold strange eyes of a httle mennaideu 
And the gleam of her golden hair. 

Come away, away, children. 
Come, children, come down. 
The hoarse wind blows colder ; 
Lights shine in the town. 
She will start from her slumber 
When gusts shake the door; 
She will hear the winds howling, 
Will hear the waves roar; 
We shall see, while al>ove us 
The waves roar and whirl, 
A ceiling of amber, 
A pavement of pearl. 
Singing, " Here came a mortal. 
But faithless was she. 
And alone dwell forever 
The kings of the sea." 

But children, at midnight 
When soft the winds blow. 
When clear falls the moonliglit^ 
When spring-tides arc low, 



312 



POEMS OF LOVE 



1 



When sweet airs come seaward 

From heaths starred with broom, 

And high rocks throw mildlj 

On the blanched sands a gloom ; 

Up the still, glistening beaches, 

Up the creeks we Avill hie ; 

Over banks of bright seaweed 

The ebb-tide leaves dry. 

We will gaze from the sand-hills, 

At the white sleeping town ; 

At the church on the hill-side — 

And then come back, down. 

Singing, ^' There dwells a loved one, 

But cruel is she ; 

She left lonely forever 

The kings of the sea." 

Matthew Akkold. 



EXCUSE. 
I TOO have suffered. Yet I know 
She is not cold, though she seems so ; 
She is not cold, she is not light ; 
But our ignoble souls lack might. 

Slie Smiles and smiles, and will not sigh. 
While we for hopeless passion die; 
Yet she could love, those eyes declare, 
Were but men nobler than they are. 

Eagerly once her gracious ken 
Was turned upon the sons of men ; 
But light the serious visage grew — 
She looked, and smiled, and saw them through. 

Our petty souls, our strutting wits. 
Our labored puny passion-fits — 
Ah, may she scorn them still, till w' e 
Scorn them as bitterly as she ! 

Yet oh, that Fate would let her see 
One of some worthier race than we — 
One for whose sake she once might prove 
How deeply she who scorns can love. 

His eyes be like the starry lights — 
His voice like sounds of summer nights — 
Fn all his lovely mien let pierce 
The magic of the universe ! 

And she to him will reach her hand, 
A.nd gazing in his eyes will stand. 
And know her friend, and weep for glee. 
And cry — ^Long, long I \e looked for thee ! 



Then will she weep — with smiles, till then 
Coldly she mocks the sons of men. 
Till then her lovely eyes maintain 
Their gay, unwaveriog, deep disdain. 

Matthew Arnoli\ 



HSTDIFFEEENCE. 

I MUST not say that thou wert true. 
Yet let me say that thou wert fair ; 
And they that lovely face who view. 
They will not ask if truth be there. 

Truth — what is truth ? Tw o bleeding lioai'ts 
Wounded by men, by fortune tried, 
Outwearied witli their lonely parts. 
Vow to beat henceforth side by side. 

The world to them was stern and drear ; 
Their lot was but to weej) and moan. 
Ah, let them keep their faith sincere, 
For neither could subsist alone ! 

But souls whom some benignant breath 
Has charmed at birth from gloom and care 
These ask no love — these plight no faith, 
For they are happy as they are. 

The world to them may homage make, 
And garlands for their forehead weave ; 
And what the world can give, they take — 
But they bring more than they receive. 

They smile upon the world ; their ears 
To one demand alone are coy. 
They wnll not give us love and tears — 
Tiiey bring us light, and warmth, and joy. 

It was not love that heaved thy breast, 
Fair child ! it was the bliss within. 
Adieu ! and say that one, at least, 
Was just to what he did not win. 

Matthew Aenoll^ 



so:NrG. 



My silks and fine array. 

My smiles and languished air, 

By love are driven away, 
And mournful lean despair 

Brings me yew to deck my grave ; 

Such end true lovers have. 



ALLAN PERCY. 



313 



His face is fair as heaven 

When springing huds unfold ; 

Oh, why to him was 't given, 
Whose heart is wintry cold ? 

His breast is love's all- worshipped tomb 

Where all love's pilgrims come. 

Bring me an axe and spade, - 

Bring me a winding-sheet ; 
When I my grave have made. 

Let winds and tempests beat ! 
Then down I '11 lie, as cold as clay, 
True love doth pass away ! 

William Blake. 



ALLAX PERCY. 

It was a beauteous lady richly dressed ; 

Around her neck are chains of jewels rare ; 
A velvet mantle shrouds her snowy breast, 
And a young child is softly slumbering 
there. 
In her own arms, beneath that glowing sun, 
She bears him onward to the greenwood 
tree; 
Is liie dun heath, thou fair and thouglitless 
one, 
The place where an earl's son should cra- 
dled be? 

Lullaby ! 

Though a proud earl be father to my child, 

Y"et on the sward my blessed babe shall lie ; 
Let the winds lull him with their murmurs 
wild. 
And toss the green boughs upward to the 
sky. 
Well knows that earl how long my spirit 
pined. 
I loved a forester, glad, bold, and free ; 
And had I wedded as my heart inclined. 
My child were cradled 'neath the green- 
wood tree. 

Lullaby 

Blumbei thou still, my innocent — mine own. 
While I call back the dreams of other days. 

fn the deep forest I feci less alone 
Than when those palace splendors mock 
my gaze. 



Fear not ! my arm shall bear thee safely back ; 

I need no squire, no page with bended knee. 
To bear my baby through the wildwood track. 

Where Allan Percy used to roam with me. 
Lullaby ! 

Here I can sit ; and while the fresh wind blows, 

Waving the ringlets of thy shining hair. 
Giving thy cheek a deeper tinge of rose, 
I can dream dreams that comfort my de- 
spair ; 
I can make visions of a different home. 

Such as we hoped in other days might be; 
There no proud earl's unwelcome footsteps 
come — 
There, Allan Percy, I am safe with thee ! . 
Lullaby! 

Thou art mine own — I '11 bear thee where I* 
list. 
Far from the dull, proud tower and donjon 
keep ; 
From my long hair the pearl chains I '11 un- 
twist, 
And with a peasant's heart sit down and 
weep. 
Thy glittering broidered robe, ray precious 
one. 
Changed for a simpler covering shall be ; 
And I will dream thee Allan Percy's son. 
And think poor Allan guards thy sleep 
with me. 

Lullaby ! 

Caroline Norton. 



CHAISTGES. 

Whom first we love, you know, we seldom 

wed. 
Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is not 
Tlie thing we planned it out ere hope waf 

dead. 
And then, we women cannot choose our lot. 

Much must be borne which it is hard to bear; 
Much given away which it were sweet tc 

keep. 
God help us all! who need, indeed. His care. 
And yet, I know the Shepherd loves Hia* 

sheep, 



314 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



My little boy begins to babble now 
Upon ray knee bis earliest infant prayer. 
He bas bis fatber's eager eyes, I know ; 
And, tbey say, too, bis motbers sunny liair. 

But wlien be sleeps and smiles npon my knee, 
And I can feel bis ligbt breatb come and go, 
I tbink of one (Heaven belp and pity me !) 
Wbo loved me, and wbom I loved, long ago ; 

Wbo migbt bave been . . . ab, wbat I dare 

not tbink ! 
We are all cbanged. God judges for us best. 
God belp us do our duty, and not sbrink. 
And trust in Heaven bumbly for tbe rest. 

But blame us women not, if some fippear 
Too cold at times ; and some too gay and bgbt. 
Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are bard 

to bear. 
Wbo knows tbe past? and wbo can judge us 

ri2:bt? 

All, were we judged by wbat we migbt bave 

been. 
And not by wbat we are — too apt to fall ! 
My little cbild — be sleeps and smiles between 
Ibese tbougbts and me. In beaven we sball 

know all ! 

EOBEET BULWER LyTTOX. 



FLORENCE YANE. 

I LOVED tbee long and dearly, 

Florence Yane ; 
My life's brigbt dream and early 

Hatb come again ; 
I renew, in my fond vision, 

My beart's dear pain — 
My bopes, and tby derision, 

Florence Yane. 

The ruin, lone and boary, 

Tbe ruin old, 
Where tbou didst bark my story. 

At even told — 
That spot— tbe hues Elysian 

Of sky and plain — 
I treasure in my^ision, 

Florence Yane. 



Tbou wast lovelier than the roecs 

In their prime ; 
Thy voice excelled tbe closes 

Of sweetest rhyme ; 
Thy heart was as a river 

Without a main. 
Would I had loved tbee nevei', 

Florence Yane ! 

But, fairest, coldest wonder I 

Tby glorious clay 
Lieth tbe green sod under — 

Alas, the day ! 
And it boots not to remember 

Thy disdain. 
To quicken love's pale ember, 

Florence Yane, 

The lilies of the valley 

By young graves weep ; 
The daisies love to dally 

Where maidens sleep. 
May their bloom, in beauty vyiug, 

Never wane 
Where thine earthly part is lying, 

Florence Yane I 

PniLjp Pendleton rv.cjKE. 



MINSTBEL'S SONG. 

On, sing unto my roundelay ! 

Oh, drop the briny tear with me I 
Dance no more at bohday; 
Like a running river be. 
My love is dead^ 
Gone to Ms death led^ 
All under the willow tree. 

Black his hair as the winter night, 

White bis neck as the summer snow, 
Buddy bis face as the morning hght ; 
Cold he lies in the grave below. 
My love is dead^ 
Gone to his death led, 
All under the willow tree. 

Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note : 
Quick in dance as thought can be : 



AUX ITALIENS. 



sn 



But, oil ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Row green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay. 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

Oh pale, pale now, those rosy lips 

I aft hae kissed sae fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 

KoBEET Burns. 



My Mary ! dear, departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend 
breast ? 

KOBKET BlTaN3. 



his 



his 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN". 

Thod lingering star, with less'ning ray. 

That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
Again thou usher est in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. * 
Mary ! dear, departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend 
breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget, 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love ? 
Eternity will not efface, 

Those records dear of transports past — 
Thy image at our last embrace ! 

Ah I little thought we 't was our last ! 

Ayr, gm^glmg, kissed his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, 
green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar. 

Twined amorous round the raptured scene. 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 

The birds sang love on every spray. 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes. 
And fondly broods with miser care ; 

Time but th' impression deeper makes, 
Afl etreams their channels deeper wear. 



AUX ITALIENS. 

At Paris it was, at the opera there ; 

And she looked like a queen in a book that 
night. 
With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair. 

And the brooch on her breast so bright. 

Of all the operas that Verdi wrote. 
The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore : 

And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note. 
The souls in purgatory. 

The moon on the tower slept soft as snow ; 
And who was not thrilled in the strangest 
vray, 
As we heard him sing, while the gas burneii 
low, 
^' If on ti scordar di me .? " 

The emperor there, in his box of state, 
Looked grave ; as if he had just then seen 

The red flag wave from the city gate. 
Where his eagles in bronze had been. 

The empress, too, had a tear in her eye : 
You 'd have said that her fancy had gone 
back again. 

For one moment, under the old blue sky, 
To the old glad life in Spain. 

Well I there in our front row box we sat, 
Together, my bride betrothed and I ; 

My gaze was fixed on my opera hat. 
And hers on the stage hard by. 

And both were silent, and both were sad ; — 
Like a queen slie leaned on her full white 
ai*m. 

With that regal, indolent air she had; 
So confident of her charm ! 



318 



rOEMS OF LOVE. 



I have not a doubt she was thinking then 
Of her former lord, good soul tliat he was, 

Who died the ricliest and roundest of men, 
The Marquis of Carabas. 

1 hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven, 
Through a needle's eye he had not to pass ; 

I wish him well, for the jointure given 
To my lady of Carabas. 

Meanwhile, I was thinking of my iirst love. 
As I had not been thinking of aught for 
years ; 

Till over my eyes there began to move 
Something that felt like tears. 

I thought of the dress that she wore last time, 
When we stood, 'neath the cypress trees 
together, 

In that lost land, in that soft clime. 
In the crimson evening weather ; 

Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot) ; 

And her warm white neck in its golden 
chain ; 
And her full, soft hair, just tied in a knot. 

And falling loose again; 

And the jasmine flower in her fair young 
breast ; 
(Oh the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine 
flower !) 
And the one bird singing alone to his nest ; 
And the one star over the tower. 

I thought of om- little quarrels and strife. 
And the letter that brought me back my 
ring ; 

And it aU seemed then, in the waste of life. 
Such a very little thing ! 

For I thought of her grave below the hill, 
Which the sentinel cypress tree stands over ; 

And I thought, " Were she only living still, 
How I could forgive her and love her ! -^ 

And I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that 
hour. 

And of how, after all, old things are best, 
Tliat I smelt the smeU of that jasmine flower 

Which she used to wear in her breast. 



It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, 
It made me creep, and it made me cold I 

Like the scent that steals from the crumbling 
sheet 
Where a mummy is half unrolled. 

And I turned, and looked : she was sitting 
there. 

In a dim box over the stage ; and di'est 
In that muslin dress, with that fuU, soft hair, 

And that jasmine in her breast! 

I was here, and she was there ; 
And the glittering horse shoe curved be- 
tween : — 
From my bride betrothed, with her raven 
hair 
And her sumptuous, scornful mien, 

To my early love, with her eyes downcast, 
And over her primrose face the shade, 

(In short, from the future back to the past) 
There was but a step to be made. 

To my early love from my future bride 
One moment I looked. Then I stole to ihi^ 
door, 
I traversed the passage; and down at her 
side 
I was sitting, a moment more. 

My thinking of her, or the music's strain, 
Or something which never will be exprest, 

Had brought her back from the grave again, 
With the jasmine in her breast. 

She is not dead, and she is not wed I 
But she loves me now, and she loved me 
then! 
And the very first word that her sweet lips 
said. 
My heart grew youthful again. 

The marchioness there, of Carabas, 

Slie is wealthy, and young, and handsome 
still ; 

And but for her . . . well, we '11 let that pass , 
She may marry whomever she will. 

But I will marry my own first love. 

With her primrose face, for old things are 
best; 



LAODAMIA. 



819 



And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above 
The brooch in my lady's breast. 

Tlie world is filled with folly and sin, 
And love must cling where it can, I say : 

For beauty is easy enough to win ; 
"But one is n't loved every day. 

Aiid I think, in the lives of most women and 
men, 
There's a moment when all would go 
smooth and even, 
If only the dead could find out when 
To come back and be forgiven. 

But oh the smell of that jasmine flower ! 

And oh that music ! and oh the way 
That voice rang out from the donjon tower, 

Non ti scordar di me^ 
Nbn ti scordar di me ! 

Egbert Bulwer Lytton. 



TOO LATE.- 

" Dowglas, Dowglas, tendir and treu." 

OouLD ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, 
In the old likeness that I knew, 

I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 

Never a scornful word should grieve ye, 
I 'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do ; — 

Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 

Oh, to call back the days that are not ! 

My eyes were blinded, your words were few: 
Do you know the truth now, up in heaven, 

Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ? 

I never was worthy of you, Douglas ; 

Not half worthy the like of you : 
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows — 

I love you, Douglas, tender and true. 

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, 

Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew ; 
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Dou- 
glas, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ! 

Dinah Mabia Mitlock, 



LAODAMIA. 

" With sacrifice, before the rising morn, 
Yows have I made by fruitless hope inspired 
And from th' infernal gods, 'mid shades for 

lorn 
Of night, my slaughtered lord have I re- 
quired ; 
Celestial pity I again implore ; — 
Restore him to my sight — great Jove, restore ! " 

So speaking, and by fervent love endowed 
With faith, the suppliant heavenward lifts 

her hands ; 
While, like the sun emerging from a cloud, 
Her countenance brightens and her eye ex- 
pands ; 
Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature 

grows ; 
And she expects the issue in repose. 

Oh terror ! what hath she perceived ? — oh joy I 
What doth she look on ? — whom doth she be 

hold? 
Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy ? 
His vital presence ? his corporeal mould? 
It is — if sense deceive her not — 't is he ! 
And a god leads him — winged Mercury ! 

Mild Hermes spake — and touched her vilh 
his wand 

That calms all fear : "Such grace hath crown- 
ed thy prayer, 

Laodamia ! that at Jove^s command 

Thy husband walks the paths of upper air; 

He comes to tarry with thee three hours' 
space ; 

Accept the gift, behold him face to face I " 

Forth sprang the impassioned queen her lord 

to clasp ; 
Again that consummation she essayed ; 
But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp 
As often as that eager grasp was made. 
The phantom parts — but parts to reunite, 
And i-eilssume his place before her sight. 

*.' Protesilaus, lo ! thy guide is gone I 
Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice : 
This is our palace, — yonder is thy throne ; 
Speak ! and the floor thou tread'st on will v^ 
joice. 



320 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



Not to appal me have the gods bestowed 
This precious boon, and blest a sad abode." 

" Great Jove, Laodamia, doth not leave 
His gifts imperfect : — spectre though I be, 
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive ; 
But in revt^ard of thy fidelity. 
And something also did my worth obtain ; 
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain. 

''Thou know'st, the Delphic oracle foretold 
That the first Greek who touched the Trojan 

strand 
Should die; but me the threat could not 

withhold — 
A generous cause a victim did demand ; 
And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain ; 
A self-devoted chief, by Hector slain." 

" Supreme of heroes ! bravest, noblest, best ! 
Thy matchless courage I bewail no more, 
Which then, when tens of thoasands were 

deprest 
By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore ; 
Thou found'st — and I forgive thee — ^here thou 

art — 
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. 

" But thou, though capable of sternest deed, 
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave ; 
And he whose power restores thee hath de- 
creed 
Thou shouldst elude the malice of the grave ; 
Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair 
As when their breath enriched Thessalian air. 

"]!To spectre greets me, — no vain shadow 

this; 
Come, blooming hero, place thee by my side! 
Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial 

kiss 
To me, this day a second time thy bride ! " 
Jove frowned in heaven ; the conscious ParcsB 

threw 
Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue. 

" This visage tells thee that my doom is past ; 
Nor should the change be mourned, even if 

the joys 
Of sense were able to return as fast 
And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys 
Those raptures duly — Erebus disdains ; 
Calm pleasures there abide — majestic pains. 



" Be taught, faithful consort, to control 
Rebellious passion : for the gods approve 
The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul ; 
A fervent, not ungovernable, love. 
Thy transports moderate ; and meekly mourn 
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn — " 

'' Ah, wherefore ? — Did not Hercules by force 
Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb 
Alcestis, a reanimated corse. 
Given back to dwell on earth, in vernal 

bloom ? 
Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years, 
And u^son stood a youth 'mid youthful peers. 

'' The gods to us are merciful, and they 
Yet further may relent ; for mightier far 
Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the " 

sway 
Of magic potent over sun and star, 
Is love, though oft to agony distrest, 
And though his favorite seat be feeble wo- 
man's breast. 



" But if thou goest, I follow—" " Peace ! '' 

he said;— 
She looked upon him and was cahned and 

cheered ; I 

The ghastly color from his hps had fled ; ■ 

In his deportment, shape, and mien appeared 
Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, 
Brought from a pensive, though a happy 

place. 



He spake of love, such love as spirits feel 
In worlds whose course is equable and pure ; 
No fears to beat away — no strife to heal — 
The past unsighed for, and the future sure ; 
Spake of heroic arts in graver mood 
Revived, with finer harmony pursued ; 

Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there 
In happier beauty ; more pellucid streams, 
An ampler ether, a divine air. 
And fields invested with purpureal gleams; 
Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest 

day 
Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. 

Yet there the soul shall enter which Lath 

earned 
That privilege by virtue. — "111,'' said he, 



LOVERS LAST MESSAGES. 



8'il 



" The end of man's existence I discerned, 
Who from ignoble games and revelry 
Could draw, when we had parted, vain de- 

ligH 
While tears were thy best' pastime, day and 

night; 

-'And while my youthful peers before my 

eyes 
(Each hero following his peculiar bent) 
Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise 
By martial sports, — or, seated in the tent. 
Chieftains and kings in council were de- 
tained, 
What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. 

" The wished-for wind was given ; — I then 

revolved 
The oracle, upon the silent sea ; 
And, if no worthier led the way, resolved 
That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be 
The foremost prow in pressing to the strand — 
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan 
sand. 

'^ Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter, was the pang 
vfhen of thy loss I thought, beloved wife ! 
On thee too fondly did my memory hang, 
And on the joys we shared in mortal life — 
The paths which we had trod — these foun- 
tains, flowers — 
My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers. 

"But should suspense permit the foe to cry, 
'Behold they tremble! — ^haughty their array, 
Yet of their number no one dares to die ? ' 
In soul I swept th' indignity away. « 
Old frailties then recurred ; — but lofty thought, 
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought. 

And thou, though strong in love, art all 
too weak 

In reason, in self-government too slow ; 

1 counsel thee by fortitude to seek 

Om blest reunion in the shades below. 

llie invisible world with thee hath sympa- 
thized ; 

Be thy affections raised and solemnized. 

** Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend, — 

Seeking a higher object. Love was given, 

45 



Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end ; 
For this the passion to excess was driven, — 
That self might be annulled — her bondage 

prove 
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." 

Aloud she shrieked ! for Hermes reappears ! 
Eound the dear shade she would have clung, 

— 't is vain ; 
The hours are past, — too brief had they been 

years ; 
And him no mortal effort can detain. 
Swift, toward the realms that know not 

earthly day, 
He through the portal takes his silent way, 
And on the palace floor a hfeless corse she 

lay. 

Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved, 
She perished ; and, as for wilful crime. 
By the just gods, whom no weak pity moved, 
Was doomed to wear out her appointed time, 
Apart from happy ghosts, that gather flowers 
Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers. 

— Yet tears to human suffering are due ; 
And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown 
Are mourned by man, and not by man alone, 
As fondly he believes. — Upon the side 
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained) 
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew 
From out the tomb of him for whom she 

died; 
And ever, when such stature they had gained 
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view, 
The trees' tall summits withered at the sight; 
A constant interchange of growth and bhght! 

William Wordswobtil 



LOVE'S LAST MESSAGES. 

Merry, merry little stream, 
Tell me, hast thou seen my dear ? 

I left him with an azure dream. 
Calmly sleeping on his bier — 
But he has fled ! 

"I passed him in his church-yard bed- 
A yew is sighing o'er his head, 
x\nd grass-roots mingle with his hair." 
What doth he there? 



S22 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



Oh cruel ! can lie lie alone ? 

Or in the arms of one more dear ? 
Or hides he in the bower of stone, 

To cause and kiss away my fear ? 

"He doth not speak, he doth not moan — 

Blind, motionless he lies alone ; 

Cut, ere the grave-snake fleshed his sting, 

This one warm tear he bade me bring 
And lay it at thy feet 
Among the daisies sweet." 

MoonUght whisp'rer, summer aii^, 

Songster of the groves above. 
Tell the maiden rose I wear 

Whether thou hast seen my love. 
'•* This night in heaven I saw him lie, 

Discontented with his bhss ; 

And on my lips he left this kiss, 
For thee to taste and then to die." 

Thomas Loyell Beddoes. 



THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL 
EYES. 

To make my lady's obsequies 

My love a minster wrought, 
And, in the chantry, service there 

Was sung by doleful thought ; 
The tapers were of burning sighs. 

That light and odor gave ; 
And sorrows, painted o'er with tears, 

Enlumined her grave ; 
And round about, in quaintest guise. 
Was carved : " Within this tomb there lies 
Tlie fairest thing in mortal eyes." 

Above her lieth spread a tomb 

Of gold and sapphires blue : 
The gold doth show her blessedness, 

The sapphires mark her true ; 
For blessedness and truth in her 

Were livelily portrayed, 
When gracious God with both His hands 

Her goodly substance made. 
He fi-amed her in such wondrous wise. 
She was, to speak without disguise. 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 

^o Qiore, no more ! my heart doth faint 
When I the life recall 



Of her, who lived so free from taint, 

So virtuous deemed by aJi — 
That in herself was so complete, 

I think that she was ta'en 
By God to deck His paradise, 

And with His saints to reign ; 
Whom, while on earth, each one did pri£(^ 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 

But nauglit our tears avail, or cries ; 

AU soon or late in death shaU sleep ; 

Nor living wight long time may keep 
The fairest thing in mortal eyes. 

Charles Duke of Okleaxs. (FrencL.) 
Translation of Heney Feancis Gary. 



THE BUEIAL OF LOVE. 

Two dark- eyed maids, at shut of day, 
Sat where a river rolled away. 
With calm, sad brows and raven hair ; 
And one was pale and both were fair. 

Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers un- 
blown ; 
Bring forest blooms of name unknown ; 
Bring budding sprays from wood and wild, 
To strew the bier of Love, the child. 

Close softly, fondly, while ye weep. 
His eyes, that death may seem like sleep : 
And fold his hands in sign of rest, 
His waxen hands, across his breast. 

And make his grave vvhere violets hide. 
Where star-flowers strew the rivulet's side, 
And blue-birds, in the misty spring. 
Of cloudless skies and summer sing. 

Place near him, as ye lay him low, 
His idle shafts, his loosened bow. 
The silken fiUet that around 
His waggish eyes in sport he wound. 

But we shall mourn him long, and miss 

His ready smile, his ready kiss, 

The patter of his little feet, 

Sweet frowns and stammered phrases sweet 

And graver looks, serene and high, 
A hght of heaven in that young eye ; 
All these shall haunt us till the heart 
Shall ache and ache — and tears will start. 



WINIFREDA. 



323 



The bow, tlie band, shall fall to dust; 
The sliming arrows waste with rust ; 
And all of Love that earth can claim. 
Be but a memory and a name. 

Not thus his nobler part shall dwell, 
A prisoner in this narrow cell ; 
But he whom now we hide from men 
fn the dark ground, shall live again— 

Shall break these clods, a form of hght. 
With nobler mien and purer sight. 
And in th' eternal glory stand. 
Highest and nearest God's right hand. 

William Citllen Bryant. 



LOVE NOT. 

Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay ! 
Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly 

flowers — 
Things that are made to fade and fall away 
Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours. 
Love not ! 

Love not ! the thing ye love may change ; 
Tlic rosy lip may cease to smile on you, 
Tlie kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange, 
Ihe heart still warmly beat, yet not be true. 
Love not ! 

Love not ! the thing you love may die — 
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth ; 
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky. 
Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth. 
Love not ! 

Love not! oh warning vainly said 
In present hours as in years gone by ; 
Love flings a halo round the dear ones' head. 
Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. 
Love not ! 

Caroline Norton. 



SONNET. 

The doubt which ye misdeem, fair love, is 
vain. 
That fondly fear to lose your liberty ; 
When, losing one, two liberties ye gain. 
And make him buund that bondage erst 
did fly. 



Sweet be the bands, the which true love doth 
tye 
Without constraint, or dread of any ill : 
The gentle bird feels no captivity 

Within her cage ; but sings and feeds her 
fiU; 
There pride dare not approach, nor discord 
s^iU 
The league 'twixt them, that loyal love hath 
bound ; 
But simple truth, and mutual good-will, 
Seeks, with sweet peace, to salve each 
other's wound ; 
There faith doth fearless dwell in brazen 

tower, 
And spotless pleasure builds her sacred bowei. 

Edmund Spbnsbk. 



WINIFKEDA. 

Away ! let naught to love displeasing. 
My Winifreda, move your care ; 

Let naught delay the heavenly blessing. 
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. 

What though no grants of royal donors 
With pompous titles grace our blood ; 

We '11 shine in more substantial honors, 
And to be noble we '11 be good. 

Our name, while virtue thus we tender. 
Will sweetly sound where'er 't is spoke : 

And all the great ones, they shall wonder 
How they respect such little folk. 

What though from fortune's lavish bounty 
No mighty treasures we possess ; 

We '11 find within our pittance plenty, 
And be content without excess. 

Still shall each kind returning season 

Sufficient for our wishes give ; 
For we will live a life of reason, 

And that 's the only life to live. 

Through youth and age in love excelling. 
We'll hand in hand together tread; 

Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwoUmg 
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. 

How should I love the pretty creatures, 
While 'round my knees they fondly clung, 

To see them look their mother's features, 
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue ! 



324 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



d 



^nd wlien with envy, time, transported, 
Shall think to rob us of our joys, 

Ton '11 in your girls again be courted. 
And I '11 go a-wooing in my boys. 

AXOI.'YMOUS. 



SOXG. 



Gathee ye rose-buds as ye may, 

Old Time is still a-flying ; 
Ajid this same flower that smiles to-day 

To-morrow will be dying. 

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, 

The higher he 's a-getting, 
The sooner will his race be run, 

And nearer he 's to setting. 

The age is best which is the first, 
When youth and blood are warmer ; 

But being spent, the worse and worst 
Time still succeed the former. 

Then be not coy, but use your time, 
And while ye may, go marry ; 

For having lost but once your prime. 
You may for ever tarry. 

EOBEBT HeRKICK. 



BRIDAL SONG. 

To the sound of timbrels sweet 
Moving slow our solemn feet, 
We have borne thee on the road 
To the virgin's blest abode ; 
With thy yellow torches gleaming. 
And thy scarlet mantle streaming. 
And the canopy above 
Swaying as we slowly move. 

Thou hast left the joyous feast, 
And the mirth and wine have ceased ; 
And now we set thee down before 
The jealously-unclosing door, 
That the favored youth admits 
Where the veiled virgin sits 
In the bliss of maiden fear. 
Waiting our soft tread to hear. 
And the music's brisker din 
At the bridegroom's entering in, 
Entering in, a welcome guest, 
To the chamber of his rest. 

Henkt Habt Milman. 



EPITHALAMION. 



Ye learned sisters, which have ofteutimes 
Beene to the ay ding others to adome, 
Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful 

rymes. 
That even the greatest did not greatly sconie 
To heare theyr names sung in your simple 

lays, 
But joyed in theyr praise ; 
And when ye list your own mishaps to 

mourne. 
Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did 

rayse. 
Your string could soone to sadder tenor 

turne. 
And teach the woods and waters to lament 
Your dolefid dreriment ; 
Kow lay those sorrowfull complaints aside ; 
And, having all your heads with girlanda 

crowned, 
Helpe me mine owne love's prayses to r*^ 

sound, 
"NTe let the same of any be en vide. 
So Orpheus did for his owne bride ; 
So I unto my selfe alone will sing ; 
The woods shall to me answer, and my echo 

rino^. 



1 



Early, before the world's light-girag lampe 
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred, 
Having disperst the night's uncheerfuL 

darape. 
Doe ye awake ; and with fresh lustyhed 
Go to the bowre of my beloved love, 
My truest turtle dove ; 
Bid her awake ; for Hymen is awake. 
And long since ready forth his maske to 

move, 
With his bright torch that flames with many 

a flake. 
And many a bachelor to waite on him, 
In theyr fresh garments trim. 
Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight: 
For loe! the wished day is come at last. 
That shaU, for aU the paynes and sorrower 

past. 
Pay to her usury of long delight ! 
xind, whylest she doth her dight, 



EPITHALAMION. 



32o 



Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing, 
That all the woods may answer, and your 
echo ring. 

Bring with you all the nymphes that you can 

heare, 
Doth of the rivers and the forests greene, 
And of the sea that neighbours to her neare; 
All with gay girlands goodly wel beseene. 
And let them also with them bring in hand 
Another gay girland, 
For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses, 
Bound, true-love-wise, with a blue silk 

riband. 
And let them make great store of bridale 

posies ; 
And let them eke bring store of other flow- 
ers, 
To deck the bridale bowers. 
And let the ground whereas her foot shall 

tread, 
For feare the stones her tender foot should 

wrong, 
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along. 
And diapred lyke the discolored mead. 
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt, 
For she will waken strayt ; 
The whiles do ye this song unto her sing. 
The woods shall to you answer, and your 

echo ring. / 

Ye nymphes of Mulla, which with careful! 

heed 
Tlie silver-scaly trouts do tend full well, 
And greedy pikes which used therein to 

feed, 
(Those trouts and pikes all others doe ex- 
cell;) 
And ye, likewise, which keepe the rushy 

lake, 
Where none do fishes take — 
Bynd up the locks the which hang scattered 

light. 
And in his waters, which your mirror make, 
F^ehold your faces as the christall bright. 
That when you come whereas my love doth 

lie 
N"© blemish she may spie. 
And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe 

the dore 
That on the hoary mountayne used to towre — 



And the wylde wolves, which seeke them tc 
devoure. 

With your Steele darts doe chace from com- 
ing neare — 

Be also present here. 

To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing, 

That all the vfoods may answer, and youi 
echo ring. 

Wake now, my love, awake ; for it is time : 
The rosy morne long since left Tithon's bed. 
All ready to her silver coache to ciyme ; 
And Pha3bus 'gins to shew his glorious hcd. 
Hark I how the cheerfull birds do chaunt 

theyr laies. 
And Carroll of love's praise ! 
The merry larke his mattins sings aloft ; 
The thrush replyes; the mavis descant 

playes ; 
The ouzell shrills ; the ruddock warbles soft : 
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent. 
To this daye's merriment. 
Ah ! my deare love, why do ye sle^pe thu« 

long? 
AVhen meeter were that ye should now awake, 
T' awayt the comming of your joyous make; 
And hearken to the birds' love-learned song, 
The dewy leaves among ! 
For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, * 
That all the woods them answer, and theyr 

echo ring. 

My love is now awake out of her dreame ; 
And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmed 

were 
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly 

beame. 
More bright than Hesperus his head doth 

reare. 
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight, 
Helpe quickly her to dight ! 
But first come, ye fayre houres, which were 

begot 
In Jove's sweet paradise of day and night ; 
Which do the seasons of the year allot ; 
And all that ever in this world is fayre, 
Do make and still repayre ! 
And ye, three handmayds of the Cyprian 

queene. 
The which do still adorn her beauteous 

pride, 
Helpe to adorn my beautifullest bride; 



326 



POEMS OF LOTE. 



A.nd, as ye her array, still throw between 
Some graces to be seene ; 
And, as ye used to Venus, to her sing, 
The whiles the woods shal answer, and your 
echo ring. 

Now is my love all ready forth to come — 

Let all the virgins, therefore, well awayt ; 

And ye fresh boys, that tend upon her groome, 

Prepare yourselves ; for he is comming stray t. 

Set all your things in seemely-good aray. 

Fit for so joyfull day — 

The joyfulest day that ever sun did see. 

Fair sun ! shew forth thy favourable ray. 

And let thy lifuU heat not fervent be, 

For feare of burning her sunshyny face. 

Her beauty to disgrace. 

O fayrest Phoebus ! father of the Muse ! 

If ever I did honour thee aright, 

Or sing the thing that mote thy minde de- 
light. 

Do not thy servant's simple boone refuse ; 

But let this day, let this one day, be mine ; 

Let all the rest be thine. 

Then I thy soverayne prayeses loud will sing. 

That all the woods shal answer, and theyr 
echo ring. 

Harke ! how the minstrels 'gin to shrill aloud 
Their merry musick that resounds from far — 
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud 
That well agree withouten breach or jar. 
But most of all the damzels do delite 
When they their tymbrels smyte. 
And thereunto do daunce and carrol sweet. 
That all the sences they do ravish quite ; 
The whiles the boyes run up and doune the 

street. 
Crying aloud with strong, confused noyce. 
As if it were one voyce : 
Hymen, lo Hymen, Hymen ! they do shout. 
That even to the heavens theyr shouting 

shrill 
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill ; 
To which the people standing all about, 
As in appro vance, do thereto applaud. 
And loud advaunce her laud ; 
And evermore they Hymen, Hymen ! sing, 
Tljat all the woods them answer, and theyr 

echo ring. 



Loe ! where she comes along with portly pace, 
Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the east, 
Arysing forth to run her mighty race. 
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. 
So well it her beseems that ye would weene 
Some angell she had beene. 
Her long, loose, yellow locks, lyke golden 

wyre. 
Sprinkled with perle, and perling flowrc^ , 

atweene. 
Do lyke a golden mantle her attyre ; 
And, being crowned with a girland green e^ 
Seem lyke some mayden queene. 
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold 
So many gazers as on her do stare. 
Upon the lowly ground afiSxed are ; 
IsTe dare lift up her countenance too bold, 
But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud, 
So farre from being proud. 
l!Tathlesse do ye still loud her prayses sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

echo ring. 

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did yo Sf^e 
So fayre a creature in your towne before ? 
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, 
Adornd with beauty's grace and vertue'e 

store ? 
Her goodly eyes lyke saphyres Ghining bright ; 
Her forehead ivory white ; 
Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath 

rudded ; 
Her lips lyke cherries charming men to byte 
Her brest lyke to a bowl of cream uncrudded ; 
Her paps lyke lyllies budded ; 
Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre ; 
And all her body like a pallace fayre, 
Ascending up with many a stately stayre, 
To honor's seat and chastity's sweet bowre. 
Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze 
Upon her so to gaze, 

Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing. 
To which the woods did answer, and your 

echo ring ? 

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see. 
The inward beauty of her lively spright, 
Garnisht with heavenly gifts of high degree, 
Much more then would ye wonder at that 
sight, 



EPITHALAMION. 



327 



A.ud stand astonisht, lyke to those which red 

Medusae's mazeful hed. 

There dwells sweet love, and constant chas- 
tity, 

Unspotted fayth, and comely womanhood. 

Regard of honour, and mild modesty ; 

There vertue raynes as queene in royal 
throne, 

And giveth lawes alone. 

The which the base affections do obey. 

And yeeld theyr services unto her will ; 

IS'e thought of things uncomely ever may 

Thereto approach, to tempt her mind to ill. 

Had ye once scene these her celestial treas- 
ures, 

And unrevealed pleasures, 

Then would ye wonder, and her prayses 
sing, 

That all the woods should answer, and your 
echo ring. 

Open the temple gates unto my love ! 
Open them wide, that she may enter in ! 
And all the postes adorne as doth behove, 
And all the pillars deck with girlands trim, 
E'or to receyve this saynt with honour dew, 
That commeth in to you ! 
"With trembling steps and humble reverence 
She commeth in before th' Almighty's view. 
Of her, ye virgins, learne obedience, — 
"When so ye come into those holy places. 
To humble your proud faces. 
Bring her up to th' high altar, that she may 
The sacred ceremonies there partake. 
The which do endlesse matrimony make ; 
And let the roaring organs loudly play 
The praises of the Lord in lively notes ; 
The whiles, with hollow throates. 
The choristers the joyous an theme sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and their 
echo ring. 

Behold ! whiles she before the altar stands, 
Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes. 
And blesseth her with his two happy hands, 
How the red roses flush up in her cheekes. 
And the pure snow with goodly vermill 

stayne. 
Like crimson dyde in grayne : 
That even the angels, which contmually 
About the sacred altar do remaino, 



Forget their service and about her fly, 

Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more 

fayre 
The more they on it stare. 
But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground. 
Are governed with goodly modesty. 
That suffers not one look to glaunce awry 
Which may let in a little thought unsound. 
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand. 
The pledge of all our band ! 
Sing, ye sweet angels, alleluya sing. 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

echo ring ! 

ITow all is done; bring home the bride 

again — 
Bring home the triumph of our victory ; 
Bring home with you the glory of her gaine — 
With joyance bring her and with jollity. 
N'ever had man more joy full day th'an this. 
Whom heaven would heape with bliss. 
Make feast therefore now all this live-lon{4 

day; 
This day for ever to me holy is. 
Poure out the wine without restraint or stay — 
Poure not by cups, but by the belly-full — 
Poure out to all that wull ! 
And sprinkle all the postes and walls wit]i 

wine, 
That they may sweat and drunken be withall. 
Crowne ye god Bacchus with a coronall, 
And Hymen also crowne with wreaths of 

vine; 
And let the Graces daunce unto the rest, 
For they can do it best ; 
The whiles the maydens do theyr carrol 

sing. 
To which the woods shall answer, and theyr 

echo ring. 

Ring ye the bells, ye yong men of the tow no. 
And leave your wonted labors for this day : 
This day is holy — do ye write it downe, 
That ye for ever it remember may, — 
This day the sun is in his chiefest hight, 
With Barnaby the bright. 
From whence declining daily by degrees, 
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, 
When once the Crab behind his back he see.« 
But for this time it ill -ordained was 



328 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



To choose the longest day in all the yeare, 
A.nd shortest night, when longest fitter 

weare ; 
Yet never day so long but late would passe. 
Ring ye the hells, to make it weare away, 
And bonfires make all day ; 
And daunce about them, and about them sing, 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

echo ring. 

Ah ! when will this long weary day have end. 
And lende me leave to come unto my love ? 
How slowly do the houres theyr numbers 

spend ! 
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move ! 
Hast thee, O fayrest planet, to thy home, 
Within the westerne foame ; 
Thy tyred steedes long since have need of rest. 
Long though it be, at last I see it gloome. 
And the . bright evening-star with golden 

crest 
Appeare out of the east. 
Fayre child of beauty! glorious lamp of love ! 
That all the host of heaven in rankes dost 

lead. 
And guidest lovers through the night's sad 

dread. 
How cherefuUy thou lookest from above. 
And seem'st to laugh atweene thy twinkling 

light. 
As joying in the sight 
Of these glad many, which for joy do sing. 
Thai all the woods them answer, and their 

echo ring. 

N^ow cease, ye damsels, your delights fore- 
past; 
Enough it is that all the day was youres. 
Now day is done, and night is nighing fast ; 
Now bring the bryde into the brydall bowres. 
The night is come, now soon her disarray. 
And in her bed her lay ; 
Lay her in lyliies and in violets ; 
And silken curtains over her display. 
And odour d sheets, and arras coverlets. 
Behold how goodly my faire love does lye, 
In proud humility'! 

Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took 
In Terape, lying on the flowry grass, 
*Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was, 
iTith Jaathing in the Acidalian hrooke. 



Now it is night — ^ye damsels may be gone, 
And leave my love alone ; 
And leave likewise your former lay to sing : 
The woods no more shall answer, nor youi 
echo ring. 

Now welcome, night! thou night so long 

expected. 
That long dale's labour doest at last defray, 
And all my cares which cruell love collected, 
Hast summd in one, and cancelled for aye ! 
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me. 
That no man may us see ; 
And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, 
From feare of perill and foule horror free. 
Let no false treason seeke us to entrap. 
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy 
The safety of our joy ; 
But let the night be calme, and quietsome, 
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray : 
Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena lay, 
"When he begot the great Tirynthian groome ; 
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lye, 
And begot Majesty. 

And let the mayds and yongmen cease to suii^ 
Ne let the woods them answer, nor they 

echo ring. 

Let no lamenting cryes, nor doleful teares. 
Be heard all night within, nor yet without ; 
Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares, 
Breake gentle sleepe with misconceived dout. 
Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadful sights, 
Make sudden, sad affrights ; 
Ne let house-fyres, nor lightning's helples 

harmes, 
Ne let the pouke, nor other evill sprights, 
Ne let mischievous witches with their 

ch amies, 
Ne let hob-goblins, names whose sense we 

see not, 
Fray us with things that be not ; 
Let not the shriech-owle, nor the storke, be 

heard ; 
Nor the night raven, that still deadly yells ; 
Nor dnmned ghosts, cald up with might> 

spells ; 
Nor griesly vultures make us once affeard. 
Ne let th' unpleasant quire of frogs still crok- 

ing 
Make us to wish theyr choking. 



EPITHALAMION 



82'J 



Let none of these theyr dreary accents sing ; 
N'e let the woods them answer, nor theyr 
echo ring. 

But let stil silence true night-watches keepe, 
That sacred peace may in assurance rayne, 
And tymely sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, 
AEay poure his limbs forth on your pleasant 

playne ; 
The whiles an hundred little winged Loves, 
Like divers-fethered doves, 
Shall fly and flutter round about the bed. 
And in the secret darke, that none reproves, 
Their prety stealthes shall worke, and snares 

shall spread 
To filch away sweet snatches of delight, 
Conceald through covert night. 
Ye sonnes of Yenus play your sports at will ! 
For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes, 
Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes 
Than what ye do, albeit good or ill. 
All night therefore attend your merry play. 
For it will soone be day ; 
Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing ; 
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your 

echo ring. 

Who is the same, which at my window 

peepes ? 
Or whose is that fayre face that shines so 

bright? 
Is it not Cintliia, she that never sleepes, 
But walks about high Heaven all the night ? 
fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy 
My love with me to spy ; 
For thou likewise didst love, though now un- 

thought, 
And for a fleece of wool, which privily 
The Latmian shepherd once unto thee 

brought. 
His pleasures with thee wrought. 
Therefore to us be favorable now ; 
And sith of women's labours thou hast charge. 
And generation goodly dost enlarge, 
Encline thy will t' effect our wishfull vow. 
And the chast womb informe with timely 

seed, 
riiat may our comfort breed : 
Till which we cease our hopefull hap to sing ; 
N'e let the woods us answer, nor our echo 

ring. 



And thou, great Juno! which with awful 

might 
The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize ; 
And the religion of the faith first plight 
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize ; 
And eke for comfort often called art 
Of women in their smart — 
Eternally bind thou this lovely band, 
And all thy blessings unto us impart. 
And thou, glad genius ! in whose gentle hand 
The brydale bowre and geniall bed remaine, 
Without blemish or staine ; 
And the sweet pleasures of theyr love's delighl 
With secret ayde dost succour and supply. 
Till they bring forth the fruitful progeny ; 
Send us the timely fruit of this same night ; 
And thou, fayre Hebe I and thou, Hymen free! 
Grant that it may so be ; 
Till which we cease your further praise to sing, 
Ne any wood shall answer, nor your echo ring. 

And ye, high heavens, the temple of the gods, 
In which a thousand torches flaming bright 
Do burne, that to us wretched earthly clods 
In dreadful darknesse lend desired light ; 
And all ye powers which in the same re- 

mayne. 
More than we men can fayne — 
Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, 
And happy influence upon us raine, 
That we may raise a large posterity. 
Which, from the earth which they may long 

possesse 
With lasting happinesse, 
Up to your haughty pallaces may mount; 
And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit, 
May heavenly tabernacles there inherit. 
Of blessed saints for to increase the count. 
So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this. 
And cease till then our tymely joyes to sing : 
The woods no more us answer, nor our echo 

ring. 

Song ! made in lieic of many ornaments^ 
With which my love should duly have dc€?i declct 
Which cutting offthroiigh hasty accidents^ 
Ye would not stay your due time to expect. 
But promist l)oth to recompensj 
Be unto her a goodly ornament^ 
And for short time an endlesse monument ! 

Edmund SPENflisii. 



3kJ0 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

I SAW two clouds at morning, 

Tinged by the rising sun, 
And in the dawn they floated on, 

And mingled into one ; 
I thought that morning cloud was blest. 
It moved so sweetly to the west. 

I saw two summer currents 
Flow smoothly to their meeting, 

And join their course with silent force, 
In peace each other greeting ; 

Calm was their course through banks of 
green. 

While dimpling eddies played between. 

Such be your gentle motion, 
Till life's last pulse shaU beat ; 

Like summer's beam, and summer's stream. 
Float on, in joy, to meet 

A calmer sea, where storms shall cease — 

A purer sky, where all is peace. 

John G. C. Bbainaed. 



NOT OURS THE YOWS. 

N'oT ours the vows of such as plight 
Their troth in sunny weather, 

While leaves are green, and skies are bright. 
To walk on flowers together. 

But we have loved as those who tread 

The thorny path of sorrow. 
With clouds above, and cause to dread 

Yet deeper gloom to-morrow. 

That thorny path, those stormy skies, 
Have drawn our spirits nearer ; 

And rendered us, by sorrow's ties, 
Each to the other dearer. 

Love, born in hours of joy and mirth, 
With mirth and joy may perish ; 

That to which darker hours gave birth 
Still more and more we cherish. 

ft looks beyond the clouds of time, 

And through death's shadowy portal ; 

Vfade by adversity sublime, 

By faith and hope immortal. 

Beenard Baeton. 



MY LOVE HAS TALKED. 

My love has talked with rocks and trees ; 
He finds on misty mountain-ground 
His own vast shadow glory- crowned - 

He sees himself in all he sees. 

Two partners of a married life, — 

I looked on these and thought of thee 
In vastness and in mystery, • 

And of my spirit as of a wife. 

These two, they dwelt with eye on eye; 

Their hearts of old have beat in tune ; 

Their meetings made December June ; 
Their every parting was to die. 

Their love has never passed away; 
The days she never can forget 
Are earnest that he loves her yet, 

Whate'er the faithless people say. 

Her life is lone — ^he sits apart — 

He loves her yet — she wiU not weep, 
Though, rapt in matters dark and deep 

He seems to slight her simple heart. 

He thrids the labyrinth of the mind; ^ 
He reads the secret of the star — 
He seems so near and yet so far ; 

He looks so cold : she thinks him kind. 

She keeps the gift of years before — 
A withered violet is her bliss ; 
She knows not what his greatness is ; 

For that, for all, she loves him more. 

For him^ghe plays, to him she sings 
Of early faith and plighted vows ; 
She knows but matters of the house : 

And he — he knows a thousand things. 

Her faith is fixed and cannot move ; 

She darkly feels him great and wise ; 

She dwells on him with faithful eyes ; 
*' I cannot understand — I love." 

Alfred Tennyson. 



MY WIFE 'S A WINSOME ^EE THING. 



381 



[F THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE. 

If thou wert by my side, my lOve, 
How fast would evening fail 

In green Bengala's palmy grove, 
TJstening the nightingale ! 

If thou, my love, wert by my side. 

My babies at my knee, 
How gayly would our pinnace glide 

O'er Gunga's mimic sea ! 

I miss thee at the dawning gray, 
When, on our deck reclined, 

In careless ease my limbs I lay 
And woo the cooler wind. 

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream 

My twilight steps I guide, 
But most beneath the lamp's pale beam 

I miss thee from my side. 

I spread my bocJks, my pencil try, 
The lingering noon to cheer, 

But miss thy kind, approving eye. 
Thy meek, attentive ear. 

But when at morn and eve the star 

Beholds me on my knee, 
I feel, though thou art distant far. 

Thy prayers ascend for me. 

Then on ! then on ! where duty leads. 

My course be onward still. 
O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads, 

O'er bleak Almorah's hill. . 

That course nor Delhi's kingly gates, 

Nor mild Malwah detain ; 
For sweet the bliss us both awaits 

By yonder western main. 

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they 
say. 

Across the dark blue sea ; 
But ne'er were hearts so light and gay 

As then shall meet in thee ! 

Bboinald Heber. 



A WISH.. 

Mike be a cot beside the hill ; 

A bee-hive's hum shall soothe ray ear ; 
A willowy brook, that turns a mill. 

With many a fall shall linger near. 

The swallow oft beneath my thatch 
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; 

Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
And share my meal, a welcome guest. 

Around my ivied porch shall spring 
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew \ 

And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
In russet gown and apron blue. 

The village church among the trees. 

Where first our marriage vows were given 

With merry peals shall swell the breeze 
And point with taper spire to heaven. 

Samuel Eogeks. 



MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer. 

And neist my heart I '11 wear her. 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife of mine. 

The warld's wrack, ^ve share c 't, 
The warstle and the care o 't, 
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 

Eobeet Buiiitflk 



332 



POEMS OF LOYE. 



THE riKESIDE. 

Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd, 
The vaiu, the wealthy, and the proud, 

In folly's maze advance ; 
Though singularity and pride 
Be called our choice, we '11 step aside, 

ISTor join the giddy dance. 

From the gay world we '11 oft retire 
To our own family and fire. 

Where love our hours employs ; 
No noisy neighbor enters here, 
No intermeddling stranger near, 

To spoil our heartfelt joys. 

If solid happiness we prize. 
Within our breast this jewel lies. 

And they are fools who roam ; 
The world hath nothing to bestow — 
From our own selves our bliss must flow, 

And that dear hut, our home. 

Though fools spurn Hymen's centle powers. 
We, who improve his golden hours. 

By sweet experience know 
That marriage, rightly understood. 
Gives to the tender and the good 

A paradise below. 

Our babes shall richest comforts bring; 
If tutored right, they '11 prove a spring 

Whence pleasures ever rise ; 
We '11 form their minds with studious care 
To all that 's manly, good, and fair, 

And train them for the skies. 



While they our wisest hours engage. 
They'll joy our youth, support our age. 

And crown our hoary hairs; 
They '11 grow in virtue every day, 
And thus our fondest loves repay, 

And recompense our cares. 

N"o borrowed joys, they 're all our own, 
While to the world we live unknown. 



Or by the world forgot ; 
Monarchs ! we envy not your statc- 
We look with pity on the great, 

And bless our humble lot. 



Our portion is not large, indeed ; 
But then how little do we need, 

For nature's calls are few ; 
In this the art of living lies^ 
To want no more than may suific^t 

And make that little do. 



We '11 therefore rehsh with content 
Whate'er kind Providence has sent, 

Kor ahn beyond our power ; 
For, if our stock be very small, 
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all, 

Nor lose the present hour. 

To be resigned when lUs betide. 
Patient when favors are denied. 

And pleased with favors given — 
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part. 
This is that incense of the heart. 

Whose fragrance smells to heaven. 

We '11 ask no long-protracted treat, 
Since winter-life is seldom sweet ; 

But, when our feast is o'er. 
Grateful from table we '11 arise, 
Nor grudge our sons, with envious eye^. 

The relics of our store. 

Thus hand in hand through life we 'U go ; 
Its chequered paths of joy and woe 

With cautious steps we 'U tread ; 
Quit its vain scenes without a tear. 
Without a trouble, or a fear, 

And mingle with the dead ; 



While conscience, hke a faithful friend, 
Shall through the gloomy vale attend, 

And cheer our dying breath — 
Shall, when all other comforts cease. 
Like a kind angel whisper peace. 

And smooth the bed of death. 

Nathaniel Cottok. 



THE POET»S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. 



332 



THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SOl^G. 

On, my love 's like the steadfast sun, 
Or streams that deepen as they rmi ; 
Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years, 
Nor moments between sighs and tears, 
Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain,. 
Nor dreams of glory dreamed in vain. 
Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows 
To sober joys and soften woes. 
Can make my heart or fancy flee, 
One moment, my sweet wife, from thee. 

Even while I muse, I see thee sit 

In maiden bloom and matron wit , 

Fair, gentle as w^hen first I sued, 

Ye seem, but of sedater mood ; 

Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee 

As when, beneath Arbigland tree, 

"We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon 

Set on the sea an hour too soon ; 

Or lingered 'mid the falling dew. 

When looks were fond and words were few. 

Though I see smiling at thy feet 
Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet. 
And time, and care, and birth time woes 
Have dimmed thine eye and touched thy rose, 
To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong 
Whate'er charms me in tale or song. 
When words descend like dews, unsought, 
With gleams of deep, enthusiast thought. 
And fancy in her heaven flies free. 
They come, my love, they come from thee. 

Oh, when more thought we gave, of old. 
To £5ilver, than some give to gold, 
'T was sweet to sit and ponder o'er 
How we should deck our humble bower ; 
*T was sweet to pull, in hope, with thee, 
The golden fruit of fortune's tree ; 
And sweeter still to choose and twine 
A garland for that brow of thine — 
A song-wreath which may grace my Jean, 
While rivers flow, and woods grow green. 

At times there come, as come there ought, 
Grave moments of sedater thought. 
When fortune frowns, nor lends our night 
One gleam of her inconstant light ; 



And hope, that decks the peasant's bower. 
Shines like a rainbow through the shower ; 
Oh then I see, while seated nigh, 
A mother's heart shine in thine eye. 
And proud resolve and purpose meek. 
Speak of thee more than words can speak. 
I think this wedded wife of mine. 
The best of all that 's not divine. 

Allan CuNNiNGiiAiCi 



TO SARAH. 

One happy year has fled. Sail, 

Since you were all my own ; 
The leaves have felt the autumn blight, 

The wintry storm has blown. 
We heeded not the cold blast. 

Nor the winter's icy air ; 
For we found our climate in the heart, 

And it was summer there. 

The summer sun is bright, SaU, 

The skies are pure in hue — 
But clouds will sometimes sadden them, 

And dim their lovely blue ; 
And clouds may come to us, SaU, 

But sure they will not stay ; 
For there 's a spell in fond hearts 

To chase their gloom away. 

In sickness and in sorrow 

Thine eyes were on me still, 
And there was comfort in each glance 

To charm the sense of ill ; 
And were they absent now, SaD, 

I 'd seek my bed of pain, 
And bless each pang that gave me back 

Those looks of love again. 

Oh, pleasant is the welcome kiss 

When day's dull round is o'er. 
And sweet the music of the step 

That meets me at the door. 
Though worldly cares may visit us, 

I reck not when they fall. 
While I have thy kind lips, my Sail, 

To smile away them all. 

Joseph Rodman Drakt^ 



334 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



THE POET'S S0:N'G TO HIS WIFE. 

How many summers, love, 

Have I been tMne ? 
Bow many days, thou dove. 

Hast tliou been mine ? 
Time, like the winged wind 

When 't bends the jBowers, 
Hath left no mark behind. 

To count the hours ! 

Some weight of thought, though loth, 

On thee he leaves ; 
Some lines of care round both 

Perhaps he weaves; 
Some fears, — a soft regret 

For joys scarce known ; 
Sweet looks we half forget ; — 

All else is flown ! 

Ah ! — ^With what thankless heart 

I mourn and sing I 
Look, where our children start, 

Like sudden sprmg! 
With tongues all sweet and low, 

Like a pleasant rhyme, 

They teU how much I owe 

To thee and .time ! 

Baeey Cornwall. 



THE BLISSFUL DAY. 

The day returns, my bosom burns. 
The blissful day we twa did meet ; 

Tho' winter wild in tempest toiled, 
Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 



Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 
And crosses o'er the sultry line — 

Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes. 
Heaven gave me more ; it made thee rainec 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give — 
While joys above my mind can move, 

For thee and thee alone I live ; 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part, 
The iron hand that breaks our band. 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 

KOBEKT Bniii^s, 



I 



johjn' a:n^deiisok 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent. 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is bald, John, 

Your locks are like the snow ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo ! 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And mony a canty day, John, 

We 've had wi' ane anither ; 
Now we maun totter doun, John, 

But hand in hand we '11 go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 



Egbert Bdunq. 



PAET V. 
POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Patriots have toiled, and in their country^s causo 
Bled nobly ; and their deeds, as they deserve, 
Receive proud recompense. We give in charge 
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic Muse, 
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 
To latest times ; and Sculpture, in her turn. 
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 
To guard them, and to immortalize her trust. 

COWPER, 



• Oh courage ! there he comes ; 



What ray of honor round about him looms I 

Oh, what new beams from his bright eyes do glanoe I 

O princely port ! presageful countenance 

Of hap at hand ! He doth not nicely prank 

In clinquant pomp, ls some of meanest rank, 

But armed in steel ; that bright habiliment 

Is his rich valor's soJe rich ornanccLt. 

JOSUUA SYLVESTEJi. 



En avanti marchons 
Contre leurs canons ! 
A travers le fer, le feu des battaillons, 
Courons a la victoire ! 

CA8IMIR DE LA ViGNE. 



The perfect heat of that celestial fire. 
That so inflames the pure heroic breast, 
And lifts the thought, that it can never rest 

Till it to heaven attain its prime desire. 

LOBD TUUHLOV/. 



POEMS OF AMBITIOl^. 



HORATIUS. 



A lAT MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF RC/ME COOLX. 



Lars Porsena of Clusium, 

By the nine gods he swore 
That the great house of Tarquin 

Should suffer wrong no more. 
By the nine gods he swore it, 

And named a try sting day, 
And bade his messengers ride forth. 
East and west and south and north, 

To summon his array. 



East and west and south and north 

The messengers ride fast, 
And tower and town and cottage 

Ha7e heard the trumpet's blast. 
Shame on the false Etruscan 

Who lingers in his home. 
When Porsena of Clusium 

Is on the march for Rome ! 

III. 

The horsemen and the footmen 

Are pouring in amain 
From many a stately market-place, 

From many a fruitful plain, 
From many a lonely hamlet. 

Which, hid by beech and pine, 
Like an eagle's nest hangs on the crest 

Of purple Apennine ; 
47 



From lordly Yolaterrae, 

Where scowls the far-famed hold 
Piled by the hands of giants 

For godlike kings of old ; 
From sea-girt Populonia, 

Whose sentinels descry 
Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops 

Fringing the southern sky; 



From the proud mart of Pisae, 

Queen of the western waves, 
Where ride Massilia's triremes, 

Heavy with fair-haired slaves; 
From where sweet Clanis wanders 

Through corn and vines and flowers, 
From where Cortona lifts to heaven 

Her diadem of towers. 

YI. 

Tall are the oaks whose acorns 

Drop in dark Auser's rill ; 
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs 

Of the Ciminian hill ; 
Beyond all streams, Clitumnus 

Is to the herdsman dear ; 
Best of all pools the fowler lovea 

The great Yolsinian mere. 



But now no stroke of woodman 

Is heard by Auser's rill ; 
No hunter tracks the stag's green path 

Up the Ciminian nill: 



ibS 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Unwatched along Clitumnus 
Grazes the milk-white steer ; 

CTnharmed the water-fowl may dip 
In the Yolsinian mere. 

vni. 

The harvests of Arretium, 

This year, old men shall reap ; 
This year, young hoys in Umhro 

Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; 
And in the vats of Luna, 

This year, the must shall foam 
Round the white feet of laughing girls 

"Whose sires have marched to Rome. 

IX. 

There he thirty chosen prophets, 

The wisest of the land. 
Who alway hy Lars Porsena 

Both morn and evening stand. 
Evening and morn the thirty 

Have turned the verses o'er, 
Traced from the right on linen white 

By mighty seers of yore ; 



And with one voice the thirty 

Have their glad answer given : 
" Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena- 

Go forth, beloved of heaven ! 
Go, and return in glory 

To Clusium's royal dome, 
And hang round IlTurscia's altars 

The golden shields of Rome! " 

XI. 

And now hath every city 

Sent up her tale of men ; 
The foot are fourscore thousand, 

The horse aie thousands ten. 
Before the gates of Sutrium 

Is met the great array ; 
A proud man was Lars Porsena 

Upon the trysting day. 

XII. 

For all the Etruscan armies 
Were ranged beneath his eye. 

And many a banished Roman, 
And many a stout ally ; 



And with a mighty following. 

To join the muster, came 
The Tusculan Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name. 

XIII. 

But by the yellow Tiber 

Was tumult and affright ; 
From all the spacious champaign 

To Rome men took their flight. 
A mile around the city 

The throng stopped up the ways : 
A fearful sight it was to see 

Through two long nights and days. 

XIV. 

For aged folk on crutches. 

And women great with child, 
And mothers, sobbing over babes 

That clung to them and smiled, 
And sick men borne in litters 

High on the necks of slaves. 
And troops of sunburned husbandmen 

With reaping-hooks and staves, 

XV. 

And droves of mules and asses 

Laden with skins of wine. 
And endless flocks of goats and sheep, 

And endless herds of kine, 
And endless trains of wagons. 

That creaked beneath the weight 
Of corn-sacks and of household goods, 

Choked every roaring gate. 

XVI. 

Kow, from the rock Tarpeian, 

Could the wan burghers spy 
The line of blazing villages 

Red in the midnight sky. 
The fathers of the city. 

They sat all night and day. 
For every hour some horseman came 

With tidings of dismay. 

XVII. 

To eastward and to westward 
Have spread the Tuscan bands, 

Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecot, 
In Crustumerium stands. 



HORATIUS. 



33y 



Verbenna down to Ostia 

Hath wasted all the plain ; 
A.stnr hath stormed Janiculum, 

And the stout guards are slain. 

XVIII. 

T wis, in all the senate 

There was no heart so bold 
But sore it ached, and fast it beat, 

"When that ill news was told. 
Forthwith up rose the consul, 

Up rose the fathers all ; 
In haste they girded up their gowns, 

And hied them to the wall. 

XIX. 

They held a council, standing 

Before the river-gate ; 
Short time was there, ye well may guess, 

For musing or debate. 
Out spake the consul roundly : 

" The bridge must straight go down ; 
For, since Janiculum is lost, 

I^ought else can save the town." 

XX. 

Just then a scout came flying. 

All wild with haste and fear : 
" To arms ! to arms ! sir consul — 

Lars Porsena is here." 
On the low hills to westward 

The consul fixed his eye. 
And saw the swarthy storm of dust 

Rise fast along the sky. 

XXI. 

And nearer fast and nearer 

Doth the red whirlwind come ; 
And louder still, and still more loud, 
From underneath that rolling cloud, 
Is heard the trumpets' war-note proud, 

The trampling and the hum. 
And plainly and more plainly 

Now through the gloom appears. 
Far to left and far to right. 
In broken gleams of dark-blue light. 
The long array of helmets bright, 

The long array of spears. 



And plainly and more plainly. 

Above that glimmering line, 
Now might ye see the banners 

Of twelve fair cities shine ; 
But the banner of proud Clusium 

Was highest of them all — 
The terror of the Umbrian, 

The terror of the Gaul. 



And plainly and more plainly 

Now might the burghers know. 
By port and vest, by horse and crest, 

Each warlike Lucumo : 
There Cilnius of Arretium 

On his fleet roan was seen ; 
And Astur of the fourfold shield. 
Girt with the brand none else may wield ; 
Tolumnius with the belt of gold. 
And dark Verbenna from the hold 

By reedy Thrasymene. 

XXIV. 

Fast by the royal standard, 

O'erlooking all the war, 
Lars Porsena of Clusium 

Sat in his ivory car. 
By the right wheel rode Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name ; 
And by the left false Sextus, 

That wrought the deed of shame. 

XXV. 

But when the face of Sextus 

Was seen among the foes, 
A yell that rent the firmament 

From all the town arose. 
On the housetops was no woman • 

• But spat towards him and hissed, 
No child but screamed out curses, 

And shook its little fist. 

XXVI. 

But the consul's brow was sad, 
And the consul's speech was low, 

And darkly looked he at the wall, 
And darkly at the foe : 



MO 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



*^ Their van will be upon ns 
Before the bridge goes down ; 

And if they once may win the bridge, 
What hope to save the town ? " 

XXVII. 

Then out spake brave Horatius, 

The captain of the gate : 
" To every man upon this earth 

Death cometh soon or late. 
And how can man die better 

Than facing fearful odds 
For the ashes of his fathers, 

And the temples of his gods? 

xxvin. 

"And for the tender mother 

Who dandled him to rest, 
And for the wife who nurses 

His baby at her breast, 
And for the holy maidens 

Who feed the eternal flame — 
To save them from false Sextus 

That wrought the deed of shame ? 

XXIX. 

" Ilew down the bridge, sir consul, 

With all the speed ye may ; 
I, with two more to help me, 

Will hold the foe in play — 
In yon strait path a thousand 

May well be stopped by three. 
N'ow who will stand on either hand, 

And keep the bridge with me?" 



Then out spake Spurius Lartius — 

A Eamnian proud was he : 
" Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 

And keep the bridge with thee." 
And out spake strong Herminius — 

Of Titian blood was he : 
" I will abide on thy left side. 

And keep the bridge with thee." 

XXXI. 

•* Horatius," quoth the consul, 
"As thou sayest, so let it be." 

And straight against that great array 
Forth went the dauntless three. 



For Eomans in Eome's quarrel 
Spared neither land nor gold, 

'Not son nor wife, nor limb nor life. 
In the brave days of old. 



xxxn. 

Then none was for a party — 

Then all were for the state ; 
Then the great man helped the poor, 

And the poor man loved the great ; 
Then lands were fairly portioned ! 

Then spoils were fairly sold : 
The Eomans were like brothers 

In the brave days of old. 

XXXIII. 

l^ow Eoman is to Eoman 

More hateful than a foe. 
And the tribunes beard the high. 

And the fathers grind the low. 
As we wax hot in faction. 

In battle we wax cold; 
Wherefore men fight not as they fought 

In the brave days of old. 



^ow while the three were tigl tening 

Their harness on their backs, 
The consul was the foremost man 

To take in hand an axe ; 
And fathers, mixed with commons, 

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow^ 
And smote upon the planks above, 

And loosed the props below. 

XXXV. 



Meanwhile the Tuscan army. 

Eight glorious to behold. 
Came flashing back the noonday light, 
Eank behind rank, like surges bright 

Of a broad sea of gold. 
Four hundred trumpets sounded 

A peal of warlike glee. 
As that great host, Tvith measured tread, 
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread. 
Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head. 

Where stood the dauntless three. 



i 



HORATIUS. 



34 J 



SXXVI. 

The three stood calm and silent, 

And looked upon the foes, 
And a great shout of laughter 

From all the vanguard rose ; 
And forth three chiefs came spurring 

Before that deep array ; 
To earth they sprang, their swords they 

drew. 
And lifted high their shields, and flew 

To win the narrow way. 

XXXVII. 

Annus, from green Tifernum, 

Lord of the hill of vines ; 
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves 

Sicken in Ilva's mines ; 
And Picus, long to Clusium 

Vassal in peace and war, 
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers 
From that gray crag where, girt with 

towers, 
The fortress of ISTequinum lowers 

O'er the pale waves of 'Nar. 

XXXVIII. 

t^lout Lartius hurled down Annus 

Into the stream beneath ; 
Herminius struck at Seius, 

And clove him to the teeth ; 
At Picus brave Horatius 

Darted one fiery thrust. 
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms 

Clashed in the bloody dust. 

XXXIX. 

Then Ocnus of Falerii 

Rushed on the Roman three ; 
And Lausulus of Urgo, 

The rover of the sea ; 
And Aruns of Volsinium, 

Who slew the great wild boar — 
The great wild boar that had his den 

Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen, 
And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, 

Along Albinia's shore. 

XL. 

Herminius smote down Aruns ; 

Lartius laid Ocnus low ; 
Right to the heart of Lausulus 

Horatius sent a blow : 



"Lie there," he cried, "fell pirate! 

K'o more, aghast and pale, 
From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark 

The track of thy destroying bark ; 
]S"o more Campania's hinds shall fly 
To woods and caverns, when they spy 

Thy thrice-accursed sail ! " 

XLI. 

But now no sound of laughter 

Was heard among the foes ; 
A wild and wrathful clamor 

From all the vanguard rose. 
Six spears' lengths from the entrance 

Halted that deep array, 
And for a space no man came forth 

To win the narrow way. 

XLII. 

But, hark ! the cry is Astur : 

And lo ! the ranks divide ; 
And the great lord of Luna 

Comes with his stately stride 
Upon his ample shoulders 

Clangs loud the fourfold shield, 
And in his hand he shakes the brand 

Which none but he can wield. 

XLIII. 

He smiled on those bold Romans, 

A smile serene and high ; 
He eyed the flinching Tuscans, 

And scorn was in his eye. 
Quoth he, " The she-wolf's litter 

Stand savagely at bay ; 
But will ye dare to follow, 

If Astur clears the way ? " 

XLIV. 

Then, whirling up his broadsword 

With both hands to the height. 
He rushed against Horatius, 

And smote with all his might. 
With shield and blade Horatius 

Right deftly turned the blow. 
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh, 
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigli— 
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 

To see the red blood flow. 



342 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



XLV. 

He reeled, and on Herminius 

He leaned one breathing space — 
Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, 

Sprang right at Astur's face. 
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet. 

So fierce a thrust he sped, 
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out 

Behind the Tuscan's head. 

XLYI. 

And the great lord of Luna 

Fell at that deadly stroke, 
As falls on Mount Avernus 

A thunder-smitten oak. 
Far o'er the crashing forest 

The giant arms lie spread ; 
And the pale augurs, muttering low, 

Gaze on the blasted head. 

XLYII. 

On Astur's throat Horatius 

Right firmly pressed his heel, 
And thrice and four times tugged amain, 

Ere he wrenched out the steel. 
" And see," he cried, "the welcome, 

Fair guests, that waits you here ! 
What noble Lucumo comes next 

To taste our Roman cheer?" 

XLYIII. 

But at his haughty challenge 

A sullen murmur ran. 
Mingled with wrath, and shame, and dread. 

Along that glittering van. 
There lacked not men of prowess, 

l^ov men of lordly race ; 
For all Etruria's noblest 

Were round the fatal place. 



But all Etruria's noblest 
Felt their hearts sink to see 

On the earth the bloody corpses. 
In the path the dauntless three , 

And from the ghastly entrance, 
Where those bold Romans stood. 

All shrank— like boys who, unaware, 

Ranging a wood to start a hare, 



Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
Where, growling low, a fierce old beai' 
Lies amidst bones and blood. 



Was none who would be foremost 

To lead such dire attack ; 
But those behind cried "Forward ! " 

And those before cried "Back! " 
And backward now, and forward, 

Wavers the deep array ; 
And on the tossing sea of steel 
To and fro the standards reel, 
And the victorious trumpet-peal 

Dies fitfully away. 



Yet one man for one moment 

Strode out before the cro^ d ; 
Well known was he to all the three, 

And they gave him greeting loud : 
"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus! 

Now welcome to thy home ! 
Why dost thou stay, and turn away ? 

Here lies the road to Rome." 

Ln. 

Thrice looked he at the city ; 

Thrice looked he at the dead ; 
And thrice came on in fury, 

And thrice turned back in dread ; 
And, white with fear and hatred, 

Scowled at the narrow way 
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, 

The bravest Tuscans lay. 



I 



But meanwhile axe and lever 

Have manfully been plied ; 
And now the bridge hangs tottering 

Above the boiling tide. 
" Come back, come back, Horatius! '- 

Loud cried the fathers all — 
"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius I 

Back, ere the ruin fall I " 

LIV. 

Back darted Spurius Lartius — 

Herminius darted back ; 
And, as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 



HORATIUS. 



34g 



But when they turned their faces, 

And on the farther shore 
Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 

They would have crossed once more ; 



But with a crash like thunder 

Fell every loosened beam, 
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 

Lay right athwart the stream ; 
And a long shout of triumph 

Rose from the walls of Rome, 
As to the" highest turret-tops 

Was splashed the yellow foam. 

LVI. 

And like a horse unbroken. 

When flrst he feels the rein, 
The furious river struggled hard, 

And tossed his tawny mane. 
And burst the curb, and bounded. 

Rejoicing to be free ; 
And whirling down, in fierce career, 
Battlement, and plank, and pier, 

Rushed headlong to the sea. 

LVII. 

Alone stood brave Horatius, 

But constant still in mind — 
Thrice thirty thousand foes before. 

And the broad flood behind. 
^* Down with him ! " cried false Sextus, 

With a smile on his pale face ; 
" I^ow yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, 

" ISTow yield thee to our grace ! " 

LVIII. 

Round turned he, as not deigning 

Those craven ranks to see ; 
N'ought spake he to Lars Porsena, 

To Sextus nought spake he ; 
But he saw on Palatinus 

The white porch of his home ; 
And he spake to the noble river 

That rolls by the towers of Rome : 

LIX. 

'*0 Tiber I father Tiber! 

To whom the Romans pray, 
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms. 

Take thou in charge this day I " 



So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed 
The good sword by his side. 

And, with his harness on his back, 
Plunged headlong in the tide. 



LX. 

No sound of joy or sorrow 

Was heard from either bank. 
But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 
With parted lips and straining eyes, 

Stood gazing where he sank ; 
And when above the surges 

They saw his crest appear, 
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry. 
And even the ranks of Tuscany 

Could scarce forbear to cheer. 



LXI. 

But fiercely ran the current, 

Swollen high by months of rain , 
And fast his blood was flowing ; 

And he was sore in pain. 
And heavy with his armor. 

And spent with changing blows ; 
And oft they thought him sinking, 

But still affain he rose. 



'N'ever, I ween, did swimmer. 

In such an evil case. 
Struggle through such a raging flood 

Safe to the landing place ; 
But his limbs were borne up bravely 

By the brave heart within. 
And our good father Tiber 

Bare bravely up his chin. 



" Curse on him!" quoth false Sextns,— 

" Will not the villain drown ? 
But for this stay, ere close of day 

AYe should have sacked the town !" 
" Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, 

'•' And bring him safe to shore ; 
For such a gallant feat of arms 

Was never seen before." 



344 



POEMS OF AMBITION'. 



LXIV. 

And now he feels the bottom ; 

N'ow on dry earth he stands ; 
Now round him throng the fathers 

To press his gory hands ; 
And now, with shouts and clapping, 

And noise of weeping loud, 
He enters through the river-gate, 

Borne by the joyous crowd. 



They gave him of the corn-land, 

That was of public right. 
As much as two strong oxen 

Oould plough from morn till night ; 
And they made a molten image. 

And set it up on high — 
And there it stands unto this day 

To witness if I lie. 



It stands in the comitium. 

Plain for all folk to see, — 
Horatius in his harness. 

Halting upon one knee ; 
And underneath is written. 

In letters all of gold. 
How valiantly he kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 

LXVII. 

And still his name sounds stirring 

Unto the men of Rome, 
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 

,To charge the Yolscian home ; 
And wives still pray to Juno 

For boys with hearts as bold 
As his who kept the bridge so well 

In the brave days of old. 

LXVIII. 

And in the nights of winter, 

When the cold north winds bloWj 
And the long howling of the wolves 

Is heard amidst the snow ; 
When round the lonely cottage 

Roars loud the tempest's din, 
And the good logs of Algidus 

Roar louder yet within ; 



LXIX. 

"When the oldest cask is opened, 

And the largest lamp is lit ; 
When the chestnuts glow in the embers, 

And the kid turns on the spit ; 
When young and old in circle 

Around the firebrands close; 
When the girls are weaving baskets, 

And the lads are shaping bows : 

LXX. 

When the goodman mends his armor, 

And trims his helmet's plume ; 
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily 

Goes flashing through the loom ; 
With weeping and with laughter 

Still is the story told. 
How well Horatius kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 

LoKD Macaulat. 



THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHE 
RIB. 

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on 

the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and 

gold; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars 

on the sea, 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep 

Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when summer 

is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were 

seen ; 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn 

hath flown. 
That host on the morrow lay withered and 

strown. 

For the angel of death spread his wings on 

the blast. 
And breathed in the face of the foe as he 

passed ; 



IT IS GREAT FOR OUR JOUNTRY TO DIE. 



34b 



iDd the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly 

and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and for 

ever grew still ! 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all 

wide, 
But through it there rolled not the breath 

of his pride ; 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on 

the turf. 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating 

surf. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale. 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on 

his mail ; 
And the tents were all silent the banners 

alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their 

wail; 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by 

the sword, 

iliith melted like snow in the glance of the 

Lord! 

Lord Bykon. 



HARMODIUS AND ARISTOGEITOK 

I'll wreathe my sword in myrtle bough, 
The sword that laid the tyrant low. 
When patriots burning to be free, 
To Athens gave equality. 

Harmodius, hail ! though 'reft of breath, 
Thou ne'er shalt feel the stroke of death ; 
The heroes' happy isles shall be 
The bright abode allotted thee. 

I'll wreathe my sword in myrtle bough, 
The sword that laid Hipparchus low. 
When at Athena's adverse fane 
He knelt, and never rose again. 

While freedom's name is understood, 
You shall deliglit the wise and good ; 
You dared to set your country free, 
And gave her laws equality. 
Tranalution of Lord Denman. Callistratus (Greek). 



IT IS GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY 
TO DIE. 

Dh ! it is great for our country to die, where 
ranks are contending : 
Bright is the wreath of our fame ; glor> 
awaits us for aye — 
Glory, that never is dim, shining on with 
light never ending — 
Glory that never shall fade, never, oh I 
never away. 

Oh ! it is sweet for our country to die ! How 
softly reposes 
Warrior youth on his bier, wet by the 
tears of his love. 
Wet by a mother's warm tears ; they crown 
him with garlands of roses. 
Weep, and then joyously turn, bright 
where he triumphs above. 

Not to the shades shall the youth descend, 
who for country hath perished ; 
Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him 
there with her smile ; 
There, at the banquet divine, the patriot 
spirit is cherished ; 
Gods love the young who ascend pure from 
the funeral pile. 

Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious 
river ; 
Not to the isles of the blest, over the 
blue, rolling sea ; 
But on Olympian heights shall dwell the de- 
voted for ever ; 
There shall assemble the good, there the 
wise, valiant, and free. 

Oh ! then, how great for our country to die, 
in the front rank to perish. 
Firm with our breast to the foe, victory's 
shout in our ear I 
Long they our statues shall crown, in songs 
our memory cherish ; 
We shall look forth from our heaven, 
pleased the sweet music to hear. 

Tames Gates PEBoivUi. 



346 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



LEONID AS. 

Shout for the mighty men 

Who died along this shore, 

Who died within this mountain's glen ! 

For never nohler chieftain's head 

Was laid on valor's crimson bed, 
ISTor ever prouder gore 

Sprang forth, than theirs who won the day 

Upon thy strand, Thermopylae ! 



Shout for the mighty men 

Who on the Persian tents, 
Like lions from their midnight den 
Bounding on the slumbering deer. 
Rushed — a storm of sword and spear ; 

Like the roused elements. 
Let loose from an immortal hand 
To chasten or to crush a land ! 



But there are none to hear — 

Greece is a hopeless slave. 

Leonidas ! no hand is near 

To lift thy fiery falchion now; 

No warrior makes the warrior's vow 
Upon thy sea-washed grave. 

The voice that should be raised by men 

Must now be given by wave and glen. 

And it is given ! — ^the surge. 

The tree, the rock, the sand 
On freedom's kneeling spirit urge, 
In sounds that speak but to the free. 
The memory of thine and thee ! 

The vision of thy band 
Still gleams .within the glorious dell 
Where their gore hallowed as it fell ! 

And is thy grandeur done ? 

Mother of men like these ! 
Has not thy outcry goDe 
Where justice has an ear to hear ? — 
Be holy ! God sliall guide thy spear, 

Till in thy crimsoned seas 
Are plunged the chain and scimitar. 
Greece shall be a new-born star ! 

Geosge Ceolt. 



PERICLES AND ASPASIA. 

This was the ruler of tne land 
When Athens was the land of fame ; 

This was the light that led the band 
When each was like a living flame ; 

The centre of earth's noblest ring — 

Of more than men the more than kinsr. 

Yet not by fetter, nor by spear. 
His sovereignty was held or won : 

Feared — but alone as freemen fear, 
Loved — but as freemen love alone, 

He waved the sceptre o'er his kind 

By nature's first great title — mind ! 

Resistless words were on his tongue — 
Then eloquence first flashed below ; 

Full armed to life the portent sprung — 
Minerva from the thunderer's brow ! 

And his the sole, the sacred hand 

That shook her segis o*er the land. 

And throned immortal by his side, 
A woman sits with eye sublime, — 

Aspasia, all his spirit's bride ; 
But, if their solemn love were crime, 

Pity the beauty and the sage — 

Their crime was in their darkened age. 

He perished, but his wreath was won — 
He perished in his height of fame ; 

Then sunk the cloud on Athens' sun, 
Yet still she conquered in his name. 

Filled with his soul, she could not die ; 

Her conquest was posterity! 

George Ckolv 



BOADICEA. 

When the British warrior queen, 
Bleeding from the Roman rods. 

Sought, with an indignant mien, 
Counsel of her country's gods, 

Sage beneath the spreading oak 
Sat the druid, hoary chief; 

Every burning word he spoke 
Full of rage and fall of grief. 



THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZUL. 



84*? 



Princess ! if our aged eyes 

"Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 
'T is hecause resentment ties 

All the terrors of our tongues. 

Rome shall perish — write that word 
In the blood that she has spilt ; 

Perish, hopeless and abhorred, 
Deep in ruin as in guilt. 

Rome, for empire far renowned. 
Tramples on a thousand states ; 

Soon her pride shall kiss the ground — 
Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates ! 

Other Romans shall arise, 
Heedless of a soldier's name ; 

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize. 
Harmony the path to fame. 

Then the progeny that springs 
From the forests of our land. 

Armed with thunder, clad with wings, 
Shall a wider world command. 

Regions Csesar never knew 

Thy posterity shall sway ; 
Where his eagles never flew, 

None invincible as they. 

Such the bard's prophetic words, 
Pregnant with celestial fire, 

Bending as he swept the chords 
Of his sweet but awful lyre. 

She, with all a monarch's pride. 
Felt them in her bosom glow : 

Rushed to battle, fought, and died ; 
Dying, hurled them at the foe. 

Ruffians, pitiless as proud. 

Heaven awards the vengeance due ; 
Empire is on us bestowed, 

Shame and ruin wait for you. 

William Cowpbr. 



THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZUL. 



King Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the 

trumpet sound. 
He hath summoned all the Moorish lords from 

the hills and plains around ; 
From Yega and Sierra, from Betis and Xenil, 
They have come with helm and cuirass of 

gold and twisted steel. 



'T is the holy Baptist's feast they hold in roy- 
alty and state. 

And they have closed the spacious lists beside 
the Alhambra's gate ; 

In gowns of black, and silver-laced, within 
the tented ring. 

Eight Moors, to fight the bull, are placed in 
presence of the king. 

III. 

Eight Moorish lords of valor tried, with stal- 
wart arm and true. 

The onset of the beasts abide, come trooping 
furious through ; 

The deeds they 've done, the spoils they 've 
won, fill all with hope and trust ; 

Yet, ere high in heaven appears the sun, they 
all have bit the dust. 

IV. 

Then sounds the trumpet clearly ; then clangs 

the loud tambour : 
Make room, make room for Gazul — throw 

wide, throw wide tlie door I 
Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still, more 

loudly strike the drum — 
The Alcayde of Algava to fight the bull doth 

come ! 



And first before the king ho passed, with rev- 
erence stooping low. 

And next he bowed him to the queen, and 
the infantas all a-rowe ; 

Then to his lady's grace he turned, and she to 
him did throw 

A scarf from out her balcony, was wliifcei 
than the snow. 



348 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



With tlie life-bbod of tlie slaughtered lords 

all slippery is the sand, 
Yet proudlj in the centre hath Gaznl ta'en 

his stand ; 
And ladies look with heaving breast, and 

lords with anxious eye — 
But the lance is firmly in its rest, and his 

look is calm and high. 

VII. 

Three bulls against the knight are loosed, and 

two come roaring on ; 
He rises high in stirrup, forth stretching his 

rejon; 
Each furious beast upon the breast he deals 

him such a blow. 
He blindly totters and gives back, across the 

sand to go. 

VIII. 

** Turn, Gazul, turn," the people cry — " the 
third comes up behind ; 

Low to the sand his head holds he, his nos- 
trils snufF the wind ; " 

riie mountaineers that lead the steers with- 
out stand whispering low, 

"Now thinks this proud Alcayde to stun 
Harpado so ? " 

IX. 

From Guadiana comes he not, he comes not 

from Xenil, 
From Guadalarif of the plain, or Barves of 

the hill; 
But where from out the forest burst Xarama's 

waters clear. 
Beneath the oak trees was he nursed, this 

proud and stately steer. 

X. 

Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood 

within doth boil ; 
And the dun hide glows, as if on fire, as he 

paws to the turmoil. 
His eyes are jet, and they are set in crystal 

rings of snow ; 
Bnt now they stare with one red glare of 

braso upon the foe. 



XI. 

Upon the forehead of the bull the horns stand 

close and near, 
From out the broad and wrinkled skull like 

daggers they appear ; 
His neck is massy, like the trunk of some old 

knotted tree, 
Whereon the monster's shagged mane, like 

billows curled, ye see. 

XII. 

His legs are short, his hams are thick, his 
hoofs are black as night. 

Like a strong flail he holds his tail in fierce- 
ness of his might ; 

Like something molten out of iron, or hewn 
from forth the rock, 

Harpado of Xarama stands, to bide the Al- 
cayde's shock. 

XIII. 

N'ow stops the drum — close, close they come 

— thrice meet, and thrice give back ; 
The white foam of Harpado lies on the char 

ger's breast of black — 
The white foam of the charger on Harpado' 

front of dun : 
Once more advance upon his lance— once 

more, thou fearless one ! 



Once more, once more — in dust and gore to 

ruin must thou reel ; 
In vain, in vain thou tearest the sand with 

furious heel — 
In vain, in vain, thou noble beast, I see, I see 

thee stagger ; 
Now keen and cold thy neck must hold the 

stern Alcayde's dagger ! 

XV. 

They have slipped a noose around his feet 
six horses are brought in, 

And away they drag Harpado with a loud 
and joyful din. 

Now stoop thee, lady, from thy stand, and 
the ring of price bestow 

Upon Gazul of Algava, that hath laid Har- 
pado low. 

Anonymous. (Spanish.) 

Translation of John Gibson Lockhaet. 



CHEVY-CHASE. 



349 



CHEVY-CHASE. 

God prosper long our noble king, 

Our lives and safeties all ; 
A woful hunting once there did 

In Chevy-Chase befall. 

To drive the deer with hound and horn 

Earl Percy took his way ; 
The child may rue that is unborn 

The hunting of that day. 

The stout earl of IlTorthumberland 

A vow to God did make, 
His pleasure in the Scottish woods 

Three summer days to take — 

The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chase 

To kill and bear away. 
These tidings to Earl Douglas came. 

In Scotland where he lay ; 

Who sent Earl Percy present word 
He would prevent his sport. 

The English earl, not fearing that. 
Did to the woods resort. 

With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, 

All chosen men of might. 
Who knew full well in time of need 

To aim their shafts aright. 

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran 

To chase the fallow deer ; 
On Monday they began to hunt 

When day-light did appear ; 

A nd long before high noon they had 

A hundred fat bucks slain ; 
Then having dined, the drovers went 

To rouse the deer again. 

The bowmen mustered on the hills. 

Well able to endure ; 
And all their rear, with special care, 

That day was guarded sure. 



The hounds ran swiftly through the 
woods. 

The nimble deer to take, 
That with their cries the hills and dales 

An echo shrill did make. 

Lord Percy to the quarry went, 
To view the slaughtered deer ; 

Quoth he, " Earl Douglas promised 
This day to meet me here ; 

But if I thought he would not come, 

No longer would I stay ; " 
With that a brave young gentleman 

Thus to the earl did say : 

" Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come 

His men in armor bright ; 
Full twenty hundred Scottish spears 

All marching in our sight ; 

All men of pleasant Teviotdale, 

Fast by the river Tweed ; " 
"Then cease your sports," Earl Percy 
said, 

" And take your bows with speed; 

And now with me, my countrymen, 
Your courage forth advance ; 

For never was there champion yet, 
In Scotland or in France, 

That ever did on horseback come, 

But if my hap it were, 
I durst encounter man for man. 

With him to break a spear." 

Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed, 

Most like a baron bold. 
Rode foremost of his company, 

Whose armor shone like gold. 

'' Show me," said he, " whose men you 
be, 

That hunt so boldy here. 
That, without my consent, do chase 

And kill my follow- deer." 



350 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



The first man that did answer make, 


His host he parted had in three, 


Was noble Percy he — 


As leader ware and tried ; 


Who said, " We list not to declare. 


And soon his spearmen on their foes 


N'or show, whose men we be : 


Bore down on every side. 


Yet will we spend our dearest blood 


Throughout the English archery 


Thy chiefest harts. to slay." 


They dealt full many a wound; 


Then Douglas swore a solemn oath. 


But still our valiant Englishmen 


And thus in rage did say : 


All firmly kept their ground. 


" Ere thus I will out-braved be, 


And throwing straight their bows away 


One of us two shall die ; 


They grasped their swords so bright ; 


I know thee well, an earl thou art — 


And now sharp blows, a heavy shower. 


Lord Percy, so am I. 


On shields and helmets light. 


But trust me, Percy, pity it were. 


They closed full fast on every side — 


And great offence, to kill 


1^0 slackness there was found ; 


Any of these our guiltless men, 


And many a gallant gentleman 


For they have done no ill. 


Lay gasping on the ground. 


Let you and me the battle try, 


In truth, it was a grief to see 


And set our men aside." 


How each one chose his spear. 


" Accursed be he," Earl Percy said, 


And how the blood out of their breastiP 


" By whom this is denied." 


Did gush like water clear. 


Then stepped a gallant squire forth. 


At last these two stout earls did meet ; 


Witherington was his name. 


Like captains of great might. 


Who said, " I would not have it told 


Like lions wode, they laid on lode, 


To Henry, our king, for shame. 


And made a cruel fight. 


That e'er my captain fought on foot, 


They fought until they both did sweat, 


And I stood looking on. 


With swords of tempered steel. 


You two be earls," said Witherington, 


Until the blood, like drops of "rain. 


" And I a squire alone ; 


They trickling down did feel. 


I '11 do the best that do I may. 


" Yield thee. Lord Percy," Douglas said 


While I have power to stand ; 


" In faith I will thee bring 


While I have power to wield my swore*.. 


Where thou shalt high advanced be 


I '11 fight with heart and hand." 


By James, our Scottish king. 


Our Englisli archers bent their bows — 


Thy ransom I will freely give. 


Their hearts were good and true ; 


And this report of thee, 


At the first flight of arrows sent. 


Thou art the most courageous knight 


Full fourscore Scots they slew. 


That ever I did see." 


Yet stays Earl Douglas on the bent, 


•'No, Douglas," saitli Earl Percy then. 


As chieftain stout and good ; 


" Thy proffer I do scorn ; 


As valiant captain, all unmoved, 


I will not yield to any Scot 


The shock he firmly stood. 


That ever yet was born." 



CHEVY-CHASE. 



3f^l 



With that there came an arrcw keen 

Out of an English bow, 
Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart ; 

A deep and deadly blow ; 

Who never spake more words than 
these : 

*' Fight on, my merry men all ; 
For why, my life is at an end ; 

Lord Percy sees my fall." 

Then leaving life, Earl Percy took 

The dead man by the hand ; 
And said, " Earl Douglas, for thy life 

Would I liad lost my land. 

In truth, my very heart doth bleed 

With sorrow for thy sake ; 
For sure a more redoubted knight 

Mischance did never take." 

A knight amongst the Scots there was 

Who saw Earl Douglas die, 
Who straight in wrath did vow revenge 

Upon the Earl Percy. 

Bir Hugh Mountgomery was he called. 
Who, with a spear full bright. 

Well mounted on a gallant steed, 
Ean fiercely through the fight; 

And past the English archers all, 

Without a dread or fear ; 
And through Earl Percy's body then 

He thrust his hateful spear ; 

With such vehement force and might 

He did his body gore. 
The staff ran through the oth( r side 

A large cloth-yard and more. 

80 thus did both these nobles die, 
Whose courage none could stain. 

An English archer then perceived 
The noble earl was slain. 

He had a bow bent in his hand, 

Made of a trusty tree ; 
An arrow of a cloth-yard long 

To the hard head haled he. 



Against Sir Hugh Mountgomery 

So right the shaft he set. 
The gray goose wing that was thereon 

In his heart's blood was wet. 

This fight did last from break of day 

Till setting of the sun : 
For when they rung the evening-bell. 

The battle scarce was done. 

With stout Earl Percy there were slain 

Sir John of Egerton, 
Sir Robert Batcliff, and Sir John, 

Sir James, that bold baron. 

And with Sir George and stout Sir 
James, 

Both knights of good accoimt, 
Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain. 

Whose prowess did surmount. 

For Witherington my heart is wo 
That ever he slain should be. 

For when his legs were hewn in two, 
He knelt and fought on his knee. 

And with Earl Douglas there was slain 

Sir Hugh Mountgomery, 
Sir Charles Murray, that from the field 
. One foot would never flee. 

Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too — 

His sister's son was he ; 
Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed, 

But saved he could not be. 

And the Lord Maxwell in like case 

Did with Earl Douglas die ; 
Of twenty hundred Scottish spears, 

Scarce fifty-five did fly. 

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, 

Went home but fifty-three ; 
The rest in Chevy-Chase were slain. 

Under the greenwood tree. 

Next day did many widows come, 

Their husbands to bewail ; 
They washed their wounds in brinish 
tears, 

But all would not prevail. 



P.62 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Their bodies, bathed in purple blood 
They bore with them away ; 

They kissed them dead a thousand 
times, 
Ere they were clad in clay. 

The news was brought to Edinburgh, 
Where Scotland's king did reign, 

That brave Earl Douglas suddenly 
Was with an arrow slain : 

" Oh heavy news," King James did say ; 

" Scotland can witness be 
I have not any captain more 

Of such account as he." 

Like tidings to King Henry came 

Within as short a space, 
That Percy of Northumberland 

Was slain in Chevy-Chase : 

" ISTow God be with him," said our king, 

" Since 't will no better be ; 
I trust I have within my realm 

Five hundred as good as he: 

Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say 

But I will vengeance take : 
I '11 be revenged on them all. 

For brave Earl Percy's sake." 

This vow full well the king performed 

After at Humbledown ; 
In one day fifty knights were slain 

With lords of high renown ; 

And of the rest, of small account, 

Did many hundreds die : 
Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy- 
Chase, 

Made by the Earl Percy. 

God save the king, and bless this land. 
With plenty, joy, and peace ; 

And grant, henceforth, that foul debate 
'Twixt noblemen may cease I 

Anonymous. 



THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT 

Fair stood the wind for France, 
When we our sails advance, 
Nor now to prove our chance 

Longer will tarry ; 
But putting to the main, 
At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, 
With all his martial train, 

Landed King Harry. 

And taking many a fort, 
Furnished in warlike sort, 
Marched towards Agincourt 

In happy hour — 
Skirmishing day by day 
With those that stopped his way. 
Where the French gen'ral lay 

With all his power, 

Which in his height of pride, 
King Henry to deride, 
His ransom to provide 

To the king sending ; 
Which he neglects the while, 
As from a nation vile. 
Yet, with an angry smile, 

Their fall portending. 

And turning to his men, 
Quoth our brave Henry then: 
Though they to one be ten, 

Be not amazed ; 
Yet have we well begun — 
Battles so bravely won 
Have ever to the sun 

By fame been raised. 

And for myself, quoth ho. 
This my full rest shall be ; 
England ne'er mourn for ine, 

Nor more esteem me. 
Victor I will remain. 
Or on this earth lie slain ; 
Never shall she sustain 

Loss to redeem me 

Poitiers and Cressy tell, 
When ihost their pride did swell, 
Under our swords they fell ; 
No less our skill is 



THE CAVALIER'S SONG. 



858 



Than when our grandsire great, 
Claiming the regal seat, 
By many a warlike feat 

Lopped the French lilies. 

The duke of York so dread 
The eager vaward led ; 
With the main Henry sped, 

Amongst his henchmen. 
Excester had the rear — 
A braver man not there : 
Lord ! how hot they were 

On the false Frenchmen ! 

They now to fight are gone ; 
Armour on armour shone ; 
Drum now to drum did groan — 

To hear was wonder ; 
That with the cries they make 
The very earth did shake ; 
Trumpet to trumpet spake, 

Thunder to thunder. 

Well it thine age became, 
O noble Erpingham ! 
Which did the signal aim 

To our hid forces ; 
When, from a meadow by. 
Like a storm suddenly. 
The English archery 

Struck the French horses. 

With Spanish yew so strong, 
Arrows a cloth-yard long, 
That like to serpents stung. 

Piercing the weather ; 
None from his fellow starts, 
But playing manly parts, 
And like true English hearts. 

Stuck close together. 

When down their bows they threw. 
And forth their bilbows drew, 
And on the French they flew, 

Not one was tardy : 
Arms were from shoulders sent ; 
Scalps to the teeth were rent ; 
Down the French peasants went ; 

Our men were hardy. 
49 



This while our noble king, 
His broadsword brandishing, 
Down the French host did ding, 

As to overwhelm it ; 
And many a deep wound lent, 
His arms with blood besprent. 
And many a cruel dent 

Bruised his helmet. 

Glo'ster, that duke so good, 
Next of the royal blood. 
For famous England stood. 

With his brave brother — 
Clarence, in steel so bright, 
Though but a maiden knight, 
Yet in that furious fight 

Scarce such another. 

Warwick in blood did wade ; 
Oxford the foe invade. 
And cruel slaughter made, 

Still as they ran up. 
Suffolk his axe did ply ; 
Beaumont and Willoughby 
Bare them right doughtily, 

Ferrers and Fanhope. 

Upon Saint Crispin's day 
Fought was this noble fray, 
W^hich fame did not delay 

To England to carry ; 
Oh, when shall Englishmen 
With such acts fill a pen. 
Or England breed again 

Such a King Harry ? 

Michael DiiAvioK 



THE CAVALIER'S SONG. 

A STEED ! a steed of matchlesse speed, 

A sword of metal keene ! 
All else to noble heartcs is drosse. 

All else on earth is meane. 
The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde. 

The rowlinge of the drum. 
The clangor of the trumpet lowde, 

Be soundes from heaven that come ; 
And oh ! the thundering presse of knighten, 

Whenas their war cryes swell. 
May tole from heaven an angel bright*. 

And rouse a fiend from hell. 



354 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



rhen mounte! tlien mounte, brave gallants 
all, 

And don your lielmes amaine : 
Deatlie's couriers, fame and honor, call 

Us to the field againe. 
No shrewish teares shall fill our eye 

When the sword-hilt 's in our hand — 
Heart whole we '11 part, and no whit sighe 

For the fayrest of the land ; 
Let piping swaine, and craven wight, 

Thus wxepe and puling crye ; 
Our business is like men to fight, 

And hero-like to die ! 

WlLLIA^I MOTHEEWELL. 



PEINCE EUGEl^E. 

Pkince Eugexe, our noble leader, 
Made a vow in death to bleed, or 

Win the emperor back Belgrade : 
*■' Launch pontoons, let all be ready 
To bear our ordnance safe and steady 

Over the Danube " — thus he said. 



There was mustering on the border 
When our bridge in marching order 

Breasted first the roaring stream; 
Then at Semlin, vengeance breathing, 
We encamped to scourge the heathen 

Back to Mahound, and fame redeem. 



'T was on August one-and- twenty, 
Scouts and glorious tidings plenty 

Galloped in, through storm and rain ; 
Turks, they swore, three hundred thousand 
Marched to give our prince a rouse, and 

Dared us forth to battle-plain. 



Then at Prince Eugene's head-quarters 
Met our fine old fighting Tartars 

Generals and field marshals all ; 
Every point of war debated, 
Each in his turn the signal waited, 

Forth to march and on to fall* 



For the onslaught all were eager 
When the word sped round our leaguer: 

" Soon as the clock chimes twelve to-night 
Then, bold hearts, sound boot and saddle, 
Stand to your arms, and on to battle, 

Every one that has hands to fight ! " 



Musqueteers, horse, yagers, forming, 
Sword in hand each bosom warming, 

Still as death we all advance ; 
Each prepared, come blows or booty, 
German-like to do our duty. 

Joining hands in the gallant dance. 



Our cannoneers, those tough old heroes. 
Struck a lusty peal to cheer us, 

Firing ordnance great and small ; 
Eight and left our cannon thundered, 
TiU the pagans quaked, and wondered, 

And by platoons began to fall. 



On the right, like a lion angered, 

Bold Eugene cheered on the bold vanguard. ; 

Ludovic spurred up and down. 
Crying " On, boys ; every hand to 't ; 
Brother Germans nobly stand to 't ; 

Charge them home, for our old renown! *' 



Gallant prince I he spoke no more ; he 
Fell in early youth and glory. 

Struck from his horse by some curst ball : 
Great Eugene long sorrowed o'er him, 
For a brother's love he bore him ; 

Every soldier mourned his fall. 



In Waradin we laid his ashes ; 
Cannon peals and musket fiashes 

O'er his grave due honors paid : 
Then, the old black eagle flying, 
All the pagan powers defying, 

On we marched and stormed Belgrade. 

Translation of John Hughes. 



1 



IVU\. 



356 



BAl^NOOK-BURK 

ROBEET BEUCE's ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled — 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led— 
Welcome to your gory bed. 
Or to victorie I 

N'ow 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lower ; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Chains and slaverie ! 

AVha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Let him turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Freeman stand or freeman fa' — 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins. 
But they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe I 
Liberty 's in every blow ! 
Let us do, or die ! 

Robert Burns. 



IVRY. 



Xow glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom 

all glories are ! 
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry 

of N'avarre ! 
Now let there be the merry sound of music 

and of dance. 
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny 

vines, O pleasant land of France ! 



And thou, Kochelle, our own Rochelle, proud 

city of the waters, 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all th> 

mourning daughters ; 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous 

in our joy ; 
For cold and stiif and still are they who 

wrought thy walls annoy. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned 

the chance of war ! 
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and Henry of 

iTavarre. 

Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when, at 

the dawn of day. 
We saw the army of the league drawn out in 

long array ; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel 

peers, 
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's 

Flemish spears. 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the 

curses of our land ; 
And dark Maycnne was in the midst, a trun- 
cheon in his hand ; 
And, as we looked on them, we thought of 

Seine's empurpled flood. 
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled 

with his blood ; 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules 

the fate of war. 
To fight for His own holy name, and Henry 

of ITavarre. 

The king is come to marshal us, in all hia 

armor drest ; 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon 

his gallant crest. 
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in 

his eye ; 
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance 

was stern and high. 
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled 

from wing to wing, 
Down all our line, a deafening shout: God 

save our lord the king ! 
" And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall tull 

well he may — 
For never I saw promise yet of such a bloody 

fray— 



35G 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Press where ye see my white plume shine 

amidst the ranks of war, 
And be your oriflamme to-day the hehnet of 

N'avarre." 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the 
mingled din, 

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and 
roaring culverin. 

The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint 
Andre's plain. 

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and 
Almayne. 

ITow by the lips of those ye love, fair gentle- 
men of France, 

Charge for the golden lilies — upon them with 
the lance ! 

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thou- 
sand spears in rest, 

A thousand knights are pressing close behind 
the snow-white crest ; 

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, 
like a guiding star, 

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the hel- 
met of Navarre. 

Now, God be praised, the day is ours : Ma- 
yenne hath turned his rein ; 

D'Aumale hath cried for quarter ; the Flem- 
ish count is slain ; 

Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds be- 
fore a Biscay gale ; 

The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and 
flags, and cloven mail. 

And then we thought on vengeance, and, all 
along our van. 

Remember Saint Bartholomew ! was passed 
from man to man. 

But out spake gentle Henry — "No French- 
man is my foe : 

Down, down, with every foreigner, but let 
your brethren go " — 

Oh I was there ever such a knight, in friend- 
ship or in war. 

As our sovereign lord. King Henry, the sol- 
dier of Navarre ? 

Right well fought all the Frenchmen who 

fouglit for France to-day ; 
And many a lordly banner God gave them 

for a prey. 



But we of the religion have borne us best in 

fight; 
And the good lord of Rosny hath ta'en the 

cornet white — 
Our own true Maximilian the cornet white 

hath ta'en. 
The cornet white with crosses black, the flag 

of false Lorraine. 
Up with it high ; unfurl it wide — ^that all the 

host may know 
How God hath humbled the proud house 

which wrought His Church such woe. 
Then on the ground, while trumpets sound 

their loudest point of war, 
Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for 

Henry of Navarre. 

Ho! maidens of Vienna ; ho! matrons of 

Lucerne — 
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who 

never shall return. 
Ho! Phihp, send, for charity, thy Mexican 

pistoles, 
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy 

poor spearmen's souls. 
Ho ! gallant nobles of the league, look that 

your arms be bright ; 
Ho ! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch 

and ward to-night ; 
For oiir God hath crushed the tyrant, our ' 

God hath raised the slave. 
And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the 

valor of the brave. 
Then glory to His holy name, from whom all 

glories are ; 
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry 

of Navarre ! 

LOED MaCATTLAY 



GIVE A ROUSE. 



King Charles, and who '11 do hun right 

now? 
King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now ? 
Give a rouse : here 's in hell's despite now. 
King Charles ! 



NASEBY. 



35'? 



n. 

Who gave me the goods that went since ? 
Who raised me the house that sank once ? 
Who helped me to gold I spent since ? 
Who found me in wine you drank once ? 
King Charles, and wJio HI do him right now ? 
King Charles, and who ^s ripe for fight now ? 
Give a rouse : here '« in helVs despite now, 
King Charles! 

m. 

To whom used my boy George quaff else, 
By the old fool's side that begot him ? 
For whom did he cheer and laugh else, 
While NolPs damned troopers shot him ? 
King Charles, and who HI do him right now f 
King Charles, and who '« ripe for fight now f 
Give a rouse : here '5 in helVs despite now, 
King Cha/rlesI 

Egbert Beowntng. 



NASEBY. 

Oh! wherefore come ye forth in triumph 
from the north, 

With your hands, and your feet, and your rai- 
ment all red? 

And wherefore doth your rout send forth a 
joyous shout? 

And whence be the grapes of the wine-press 
that ye tread ? 

Oh! evil was the root, and bitter was the 

fruit. 
And crimson was the juice of the vintage that 

we trod ; 
For we trampled on the throng of the haughty 

and the strong, 
Who sate in the high places and slew tlie 

saints of God. 

It was about the noon of a glorious day of 

June, 
Tliat we saw their banners dance and their 

cuirasses shine. 
And the man of blood was there, with his 

long essenced hair, 
And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert 

of the Rhine. 



Like a servant of the Lord, with his bible and 
his sword. 

The general rode along us to form :is for the 
tight; 

When a murmuring sound broke out, and 
swelled into a shout 

Among the godless horsemen upon the ty- 
rant's right. 

And hark! like the roar of the billows on the 

shore, 
The cry of battle rises along their charging 

line: 
For God! for the cause ! for the Church! for 

the laws ! 
For Charles, king of England, and Rupert of 

the Rhine ! 

The furious German comes, with his clarions 
and his drums. 

His bravoes of Alsatia and pages of White- 
hall; 

They are bursting on our flanks ! Grasp your 
pikes ! Close your ranks ! 

For Rupert never comes, but to conquer, or 
to fall. 

They are here — they rush on — we are bro- 
ken — we are gone — 

Our left is borne before them like stubble on 
the blast. 

Lord, put forth thy might ! Lord, defend 
the right ! 

Stand back to back, in God's name ! and fight 
it to the last ! 

Stout Skippen hath a wound — the centre hath 

given ground. 
Hark! hark! what means the trampling of 

horsemen on our rear ? 
Whose banner do I see, boys ? ' Tis he ! thank 

God! 'tis he, boys! 
Bear up another minute! Brave Oliver if: 

here ! 

Their heads all stooping low, their iK)ints all 

in a row : 
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge 

on the dikes, 



368 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of 

the accurst, 
And at a shock have scattered the forest of 

his pikes. 

Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook 

to hide 
Their coward heads, predestined to rot on 

Temple Bar ; 
And he — ^he turns ! he flies ! shame on those 

cruel eyes 
That bore to look on torture, and dare not 

look on war ! 

Ho, comrades ! scour the plain ; and ere je 

strip the slain, 
First give another stab to make your search 

secure ; 
Then shake from sleeves and pockets their 

broad-pieces and lockets, 
The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the 

poor. 

Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and 
your hearts were gay and bold, 

Wlier. you kissed your lily hands to your le- 
mans to-day ; 

And to-morrow shall the fox from her cham- 
bers in the rocks 

fjead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the 
prey. 

Where be your tongues, that late mocked at 
heaven, and hell, and fate? 

And the fingers that once were so busy with 
your blades ? 

Your perfumed satin clothes, your catches 
and your oaths ? 

Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your dia- 
monds and yom* spades? 



Down ! down ! for ever down, with the mitre 
and the crown ! 

With the Belial of the court, and the Mam- 
mon of the Pope ! 

There is woe in Oxford halls, there is wail in 
Durham's stalls ; 

riie Jesuit smites his bosom, the bishop rends 
his cope. 



And she of the seven hills shall mourn hei 

children's ills, 
Aud tremble when she thinks on the edge oi 

England's sword ; 
And the kings of earth in fear shall shuddei 

when they hear 
What the hand of God hath wrought for the 

houses and the word ! 

Lord Maoaulav. 



Alsr HORATIAK ODE, 
UPON oeomwell's eetuen feom ieeland. 

The forward youth that would appear. 
Must now forsake his Muses dear ; 

i^or in the shadows sing 

His numbers languishing. 

'T is time to leave the books in dust, 
And oil the unused armor's rust ; 

Kemoving from the wall 

The corslet of the hall. 



So restless Cromwell could not cease 
In the inglorious arts of peace, 

But through adventurous war 

Urged his active star ; 

And like the three-forked hghtning, first 
Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, 

Did thorough his own side 

His fiery way divide. 

For 't is all one to courage higli, 
The emulous, or enemy; 

And, with such, to enclose 

Is more than to oppose. 

Then burning through the air he went, 
And palaces and temples rent ; 
And Caesar's head at last 
Did through his laurels blast 



1 



AN HORATIAN ODE. 



351 



'Tis madness to resist or blame 
The face of angry heaven's flame ; 

And, if we would speak true, 

Much to the man is due, 

Who, from his private gardens, where 
He lived reserved and austere, 

(As if his highest plot 

To plant the bergamot,) 

Could by industrious valor climb 
To ruin the great work of time, 

And cast the kingdoms old 

Into another mould ! 

Though justice against fate complain. 
And plead the ancient rights in vain— 
But those do hold or break. 
As men are strong or weak. 

Nature, that hateth emptiness. 

Allows of penetration less, 

And therefore must make room 
Where greater sphits come. 

What field of all the civil war. 
Where his were not the deepest scar ? 

And Hampton shows what part 

He had of wiser art : 

Where, twining subtle fears with hope, 
He wove a net of such a scope 

That Charles himself might chase 
To Carisbrook's narrow case ; 

That thence the royal actor borne, 
The tragic scafibld might adorn. 
While round the armed bands 
Did clap their bloody hands, 

He nothing common did or mean 
Upon that memorable scene ; 

But with his keener eye 

The axe's edge did try : 

Kor called the gods, with vulgar spite, 
To vindicate his helpless right ; 

But bowed his comely head 

Down, as upon a bed. 



This was that memorable hour, 
Which first assured the forced power • 

So, when they did design 

The Capitol's first line, 

A bleeding head, where they begun. 
Did fright the architects to run : 

And yet in that the state 

Foresaw its happy fate. 

And now the Irish are ashamed 
To see themselves in one year tamed ; 
So much one man can do, 
That does both act and know. 

They can affirm his praises best. 
And have, though overcome, confest 
How good he is, how just. 
And fit for highest trust : 

ISTor yet grown stiifer by comnaand. 
But still in the republic's hand, 

How fit he is to sway 

That can so well obey. 

He to the commons' feet presents 
A kingdom for his first year's rents , 
And, what he may, forbears 
His fame to make it theirs : 

And has his sword and spoils ungirt, 
To lay them at the public's skirt. 
So when the falcon high 
Falls heavy from tlie sky, 

She, having killed, no more does search 
But on the next green bough to perch 
Where, when he first does lure. 
The falconer has her sure. 

What may not then oar isle presume, 
While victory his crest does plume ? 
What may not others fear 
If thus he crowns each year j 

As Cffisar he, ere long, to Gaul ; 
To Italy an Hannibal ; 

And to all states not free 

Shall climacteric be 



',{)() 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



The Pict no shelter now shall find 
Within his parti-colored mind ; 
But from this valor sad 
Shrink underneath the plaid, 

Happy, if in the tufted brake 
The English hunter him mistake, 

ISTor lay his hounds in near 

The Caledonian deer. 

But thou, the war's and fortune's son, 

March indefatigably on; 
And, for the last effect. 
Still keep the sword erect ! 

Besides the force it has to fright 

The spirits of the shady night, 
The same arts that did gain 
A power, must it maintain. 

Andrew Marvell. 



SONNETS. 

TO TllE LOED GENEEA.L CEOMWELL. 

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a 

cloud 
Not of war on.y, but detractions rude, 
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude. 
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast 

ploughed, 
A lid on the neck of crowned fortune proud 
Hast reared God's trophies, and his work 

pursued. 
While Darwen stream with blood of Scots 

imbrued, 
And Dunbar field resounds thy prai-ses loud. 
And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much 

remains 
To conquer still ; peace hath her victories 
No less renowned than war. Nev*^ foes arise 
Tiireatening to bind our souls with secular 

chains : 
Ifolp us to save free conscience from the 

paw 
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel !s their 

maw. 



ON THE DETEACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON 
MY WEITIXG CEETAIN TEEATISES. 

I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs 
By the known rules of ancient liberty, 
When straight a barbarous noise environs 
me 
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and 

dogs: 
As when those hinds that were transformet^ 
to frogs 
Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny, 
Which after held the sun and moon in 
fee. 
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs, 
That bawl for freedom in their senseless 
mood. 
And still revolt when truth would set them 

free. 
License they mean when they cry Liberty ; 
For who loves that must first be wise and 
good; 
But from that mark how far they rove wp 
see, 
For all this waste of wealth, and loss rjf 
blood. 



TO CTEIAO SKINXEE. 

Cteiao, this three years day these eyes, tho' 
clear 
To outward view of blemish or of spot. 
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot ; 
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear 
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout tht^ 
year. 
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not 
Against heaven's hand or will, nor bate a 

jot 
Of heart or hope ; but still bear up and 
steer 
Eight onward. What supports me, dost thoi: 
ask? 
The conscience, friend, t' have lost them 

overplied 
In liberty's defence, my noble task, 
Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 
This thought might lead me through the 

world's vain mask, 
Content though blind, had I no better guide 

John Milton, 



THE COVENANTERS* BATTLE-CHANT. 



8G1 



WHEN BANISTERS ARE WAVING. 



When banners are waving, 

And lances a- pushing ; 
When captains are shouting, 

And war-horses rushing ; 
When cannon are roaring. 

And hot bullets flying. 
He that would honor win, 

Must not fear dying. 



Though shafts fly so thick 

That it seems to be snowing ; 
Though streamlets with blood 

More than water are flowing ; 
Though with sabre and bullet 

Our bravest are dying. 
We speak of revenge, but 

We ne'er speak of flying. 

III. 
Come, stand to it, heroes ! 

The heathen are coming ; 
Horsemen are round the walls, 

Riding and running ; 
Maidens and matrons all 

Arm ! arm ! are crying , 
From petards the wildfire 's 

Flashing and flying. 



The trumpets from turrets high 

Loudly are braying ; 
The steeds for the onset 

Are snorting and neighing ; 
As waves in the ocean. 

The dark plumes are dancing ; 
As stars in the blue sky, 

The helmets are glancing. 

Their ladders are planting, 

Their sabres are sweeping ; 
Now swords from our sheaths 

By the thousand are leaping ; 
Like the flash of the levin 

Ere men hearken thunder. 
Swords gleam, and the steel caps 

Are cloven asunder. 



The shouting has ceased. 

And the flashing of cannon 1 
I looked from the turret 

For crescent and pennon : 
As flax touched by fire, 

As hail in the river. 
They were smote, they were fallen, 

And had melted for ever. 

Anonymoxts. 



THE COVENANTERS' BATTLE-OHANT. 

To battle! to battle! 

To slaughter and strife ! 
For a sad, broken covenant 

We barter poor life. 
The great God of Judah 

Shall smite with our hand, 
And break down the idols 

That cumber the land. 

Uplift every voice 

In prayer, and in song ; 
Remember the battle 

Is not to the strong ; — 
Lo, the Ammonites thicken ! 

And onward they come, 
To the vain noise of trumpet, 

Of cymbal, and drum. 

They haste to the onslaught, 

With hagbut and spear ; 
They lust for a banquet 

That 's deathful and dear. 
Now horseman and footman 

Sweep down the hill-side ; 
They come, like fierce Pharaohs, 

To die in their pride ! 

See, long plume and pennon 

Stream gay in the air ! 
They are given us for slaughter, - 

Shall God's people spare? 
Nay, nay ; lop them off — 

Friend, father, and son ; 
All earth is athirst till 

The good work be done. 



302 POEMS OF 


AMBITION. 


Brace tight every buckler, 


And far up in heaven, near the white sunny 


And lift high the sword ! 


cloud, 


For biting must blades be 


The song of the lark was melodious and 


That fight for the Lord. 


loud; 


Remember, remember, 


And in Glenmuir's wild solitude, lengthened 


How saints' blood was shed, 


and deep, 


As free as the rain, and 


Were the whistling of plovers and bleating 


Homes desolate made ! 


of sheep. 


Among them ! — among them ! 


And Wellwood's sweet valley breathed music 


Unburied bones crj : 


and gladness— 


Avenge us, — or, like us, 


The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty 


Faith's true martyrs die ! 


and redness ; 


Hew, hew down the spoilers ! 


Its daughters were happy to hail the return- 


Slay on, and spare none ; 


ing, 


Then shout forth in gladness. 


And drink the delight of July's sweet morn- 


Heaven's battle is won ! 


ing. J 


Wtillam Mothekwbt,l. 


i 




But, oh! there were hearts cherished far othei 




feelings, 




Illumed by the light of prophetic reveal- 




ings; 


THE OAMEROOTAN'S DREAM. 


Who drank from the scenery of beauty but 




sorrow, 


]^, •! dream of the night I was wafted away 


For they knew that their blood would bedew 


T:> the muirland of mist, where the martyrs 


it to-morrow. 


lay; 




Where Cameron's sword and his bible are 


' Twas the few faithful ones who with Cam- 


seen. 


eron were lying 


Engraved on the stone where the heather 


Concealed 'mong the mist where the heath- 


grows green. 


fowl was crying ; 




For the horsemen of Earlshall around them 


' Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and 
blood 


were hovering, 


And their bridle reins rung through the thin 


When the minister's home was the mountain 


misty covering 


and wood ; 




When in Wellwood's dark valley the stand- 


Their faces grew pale, and their swords were 


ard of Zion, 


unsheathed, , 


Ml bloody and torn, 'mong the heather was 


But the vengeance that darkened their brow 


ly^iig- 


was unbreathed ; 




With eyes turned to heaven in calm resigna- 


Twas morning; and summer's young sun 


tion. 


from the east 


They sang their last song to the God of sal- 


Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's 


vation. 


breast ; 




On Wardlaw and Cairntable the clear shin- 


The hills with the deep mournful music were 


ing dew 


ringing, 


Glistened there 'mong the heath bells and 


The curlew and plover in concert were sink- 


mountain flowers blue. 


ing ; 



4 



THE BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE. 



sas 



But tlie melody died 'mid derision and laugh- 
ter, 

A..S the host of ungodly rushed on to the 
slaughter. 

Though in mist, and in darkness, and fire 

they were shrouded, 
7et the souls of the righteous were calm and 

unclouded ; 
Their dark eyes flashed Hghtniug, as, firm 

and unbending, 
Thoy stood like the rock which the thunder 

is rending. 

The muskets were flashing, the blue swords 

were gleaming. 
The helmets were cleft, and the red blood 

was streaming. 
The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was 

rolling. 
When in Wellwood's dark muirlands the 

mighty were falling. 

"Wlien the righteous had fallen, and the com- 
bai" was ended, 

A chariot of fire through the dark cloud de- 
scended ; 

Its di'ivers were angels on horses of white- 
ness^ 

And its burning wheels turned upon axles of 
brightness. 

A seraph unfolded its doors bright and shin- 
ing, 

All dazzling like gold of the seventh refin- 
ing. 

And the souls that came forth out of great 
tribulation, 

Have mounted the chariots and steeds of 
salvation.* 

On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is 
gliding, 

'llirough the path of the thunder the horse- 
raon are riding — 

Ghde swiftly, bright spirits the prize is be- 
fore ye — 

A orown never fading, a kingdom of glory ! 

James Uyslop 



THE BONlsTETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE. 

To the lords of convention 't was Claverhouse 

who spoke, 
"Ere the king's crown shall fall there are 

crowns to be broke ; 

So let each cavalier vv^ho loves honor and me 

Come follow the bonnets of bonnie Dundee ! '' 

Come fill up my cup^ come fill up my can ; 

Come saddle your horses^ and call up> your 

men; 
Come open tlie Westport and let us gan^ 

free, 
And it '5 room for the honnets of lonnie 
Dundee ! 

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, 
The bells are rung backward, the drums they 

are beat ; 
But the provost, douce man, said, " Just e'en 

let him be. 
The gude toun is well quit of that dell o\ 
Dundee ! " 
Come Jill up my cup, come fill up my can 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 

free, 
And it '5 room for the bonnets of lonnie 
Dundee ! 

As he rode doun the sanctified bends of the 

Bow 
Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow ; 
But the young plants of grace they looked 

cowthie and slee, 
Thinking, Luck to thy bonnet, thou bonnie 
Dundee ! 
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open the Westport and let us gang 

free. 
And if^s room for the lonnets of lonnie 
Dundee ! 



With sour-featured whigs the grass-market 

was thranged 
As if h/df the west had set tryst to be lianged ; 



364 



POEMS OF AMBITION 



There was spite in each look, tliere was fear 

in each ee, 
As they watched for the bonnets of bonnie 
Dundee. 
Gome fill up my cup^ come fill wp my can ; 
Gome saddle your Tiorses^ and call up your 

men; 
Gome open the Westport and let us gang 

free, 
And it ^8 roor.i For the 'bonnets of 'bonnie 
Dundee ! 



These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had 

spears. 
And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers ; 
Butthej shrunk to close-heads, and the cause- 
way was free 
At the toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 
Gome fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; 
Gome saddle your horses, and call up your 

men i 
Gome open the Westpuro and let ics gang 

free, 
And it '5 room for the bonnets of bonnie 
Dundee ! 



He spurred to the foot of the proud castle 

rock, 
And with tlje gay Gordon he gallantly spoke : 
" Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa 

words or three, 
For the love of the bonnet of bonnie 
Dundee." 
Gome fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; 
Gome saddle your horses, and call up your 

men; 
Gome open the Westport and let us gang 

free. 
And it 's room for the bonnets of bonnie 
Dundee ! 



riie Gordon demands of him which way he 
goes — 

*' Wliere'er shall direct me the shade of Mont- 
rose ! 

Your grace in short ^'pace shall hear tidings 
of me, 

Or that low lies the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 



Gome fill up my cup, come fill up my can; 
Gome saddle your horses, and call up your 

men; 
Gome open the 'Westport and let us gang 

free. 
And it 's room for the bonnets of bonnie 

Dundee I 

" There are hiUs beyond Pentland and lands 

beyond Forth ; 
If there 's lords in the Lowlands, there 's chief*^ 

in the north ; 
There are wild Duniewassals three thousand 

times three 
Will cry ' Hoigh ! ' for the bonnet of bonnie 
Dundee. 
Gome fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; 
Gome saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Gome oper the Westport and let us gang 

free, 
And it 's room for the bonnets of bonnie 
Dundee ! 

" There 's brass on the target of barkened 

bull-hide. 
There 's steel in the scabbard that dangles be- 
side ; 
The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall 

flash free. 
At a toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 
Gome fill up my cup, come fill up my can ; 
Gome saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Gome open the Westport and let us gang 

free. 
And it^s room for the bonnets of bonnie 
Dundee I 

" Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks , 
Ere I own an usurper I '11 couch with the fox ; 
And tremble, false whigs,^ in the midst of 

your glee, 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and 
me." 
Gome fill up my cup, come fill up my can , 
Gome saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open tJie Westport and let us gang 

free. 
And it '« room for the I mnets of bonnie 
Dundee ! 



HERE »S TO THE KING, SIR! 



365 



He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets 

were blown, 
The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen 

rode on, 
TDl on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's 

lea 
Died away the wild war-notes of bonnie Dun- 
dee. 
Come fill up my cu2J^ come fill up my can ; 
Gome saddle the horses^ and call up the 

men; 
Come open your doors and let me gaefree^ 
For it '5 up with the "bonnets of 'bonnie 

Dundee! 

Sib Walter Scott. 



LOOHABER NO MORE. 

Fakewell to Lochaber! and farewell, my 

Jean, 
Where heartsome with thee I hae mony day 

been! 
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, 
"We '11 maybe return to Lochaber no more ! 
lliese tears that I shed they are a' for my dear, 
And no for the dangers attending on war. 
Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody 

shore. 
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more. 

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind, 
They '11 ne'er make a tempest like that in my 

mind; 
Though loudest of thunder on louder waves 

roar, 
That 's naething like leaving my love on the 

shore. 
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair 

pained ; 
By ease that's inglorious no fame can be 

gained ; 
And beauty and love's the reward of the 

brave, 
And I mast deserve it before I can crave. 

Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my ex- 
cuse; 
Since honor commands me, how can I refuse? 
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee. 
And without thy favor I 'd better not be. 



I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame, 

And if I should luck to come gloriously hame, 

I '11 bring a heart to thee with love running 

o'er, 

And then I '11 leave thee and Lochaber no 

more. 

Allan Eamsay. 



HERE 'S TO THE KING, SIR ! 

Here 's to the king, sir ! 
Ye ken wha I mean, sir — 
And to every honest man 
That will do 't again ! 

Fill^ fill your bumpers high ; 
Brain^ drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon him I— fie I o\ fie ! — 
That loinna do '^ again. 

Here 's to the chieftains 
Of the gallant Highland clans ! 
They hae done it mair nor ance, 
And will do 't again. 
Fill^ fill your bumpers high ; 
Drain^ drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon him !—fie I o\ fie ! — 
That winna do H again^ 

When you hear the trumpet's sound 
Tuttie taittie to the drums, 
Up wi' swords and down wi' guns, 
And to the loons again ! 

Fill^fill your bumpers high; 
JDrain^ drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon him !—fie ! oh^ fis ! — 
That winna do H again. 

Here' s to the ting 0' Swede I 
Fresh laurels crown his head ! 
Shame fa' every sneaking blade 
That winna do 't again ! 
Fill^ fill your bumpers high ; 
Drain^ drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon him !—fie ! o\ fie ! — 
That winna djH again. 

But to make a' things right now, 
He that drinks maun fight too. 
To show his heart 's upright too, 
And that he '11 do 't again I 



b()6 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Fill^ fill your lumpers MgJi ; 
Drain^ drain your glasses dry ; 
Out upon Mm I —fie ! o\ fie ! — 
That winna do H again, 

AXONYMOUS. 



OHAELIE IS MY DAELING. 

'T WAS on a Monday morning 

Eicht early in the year. 
That Charhe cam' to our toun, 
The young chevalier. 
And Charlie he '5 my darling^ 

My darling^ my darling ; 
Charlie he '« my darling^ 
The young chevalier 1 

As he was walking up the street, 

The city for to view. 
Oh, there he spied a bonnie lass 
The window looking through. 
And Cliarlie he 's my darling^ 

My darling J my darling ; 
Charlie he '5 my darling^ 
The young chevalier 1 

Say licht 's he jumped up the stair. 

And tirled at the pin ; 
And wha sae ready as herseP 
To let the laddie in? 
And Charlie he '5 my darling^ 

My darling^ my darling ; 
Charlie he 's my darling^ 
The young chevalier ! 

He set his Jenny on his knee. 
All in his Highland dress; 
For brawly weel he kenned the way 
To please a bonnie lass. 
And Charlie he 's my darling^ 

My darling^ ^/hy darling ; 
Charlie he '5 my darling^ 
The young chevalier ! 

It 's up yon heathery mountain. 
And down yon scroggy glen, 
We daurna gang a-milking, 
For Charlie and his men. 

And Charlie he 's my darling^ 

My darling^ my darling ; 
Charlie he '« my darling^ 
The young chevalier I 

AKOSYMOTJa 



THE GALLANT GPwAHAMS. 

To wear the blue I think it best. 

Of a' the colors that I see ; 
And I '11 wear it for the gallant Grahams 

That are banished frae their ain countrie. 



I '11 crown them east, I '11 crown them west, 
The bravest lads that e'er I saw ; 

They bore the gree in free fighting, 

ind ne'er were slack their swords to draw 

They wan the day wi' Wallace wight ; 

They were the lords 0' the south countrie; 
Cheer up your hearts, brave cavaliers, 

TiU the gallant Grahams come o'er the 
sea. 

At the Gouk head, where their camp vias 
set, 

They rade the white horse and the gray, 
A' glancing in their plated armor, 

As the gowd shines in a summer's day. 

But woe to Hacket, and Strachan baith, 
And ever an iU death may they die, 

For they betrayed the gallant Grahams, 
That aye were true to majesty. 

Now fare ye weel, sweet EnnerdaJe, 
Baith kith and kin that I could name ; 

Oh, I would sell my silken snood 
To see the gallant Grahams come hame. 

AN0^~i'M0U6 



KENMURE'S ON AND AWA. 

On, Kenmure 's on and aw a, Willie 1 
Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa I 

And Kenmure's lord 's the bravest lord 
That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, WiUie ! 

Success to Kenmure's band ; 
There's no a heart that feai's a Whig 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 



LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 



367 



Here 's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie ! 

Here 's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's 
blude, 

N"or yet o' Gordon's line. 

Oh, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 

Oh, Kenmure's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 

They '11 live or die wi' fame, Willie i 

They '11 live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon, wi' sounding victorie, 

May Kenmure's lord come hame. 

Here 's him that 's far awa, Willie ! 

Here 's him that '« far awa ; 
And here 's the flower that I love best — 

The rose that 's like the snaw. 

lioBEET Burns. 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S 
AWA. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 

May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
It 's guid to be merry and wise, 

It 's guid to be honest and true, 
It 's guid to support Caledonia's cause. 

And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa. 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
Here 's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the 
clan, 

Altho' that his band be sma'. 
May liberty meet wi' success ! 

May prudence protect her fra evil I 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 

And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa. 
And here 's to them that 's awa ; 

Here 's a health to Tammie, the N"orland lad- 
die, 
That lives at the lug o' the law ! 



Here 's freedom to him that wad read. 
Here 's freedom to him that wad write ! 

There 's nane ever feared that the truth should 
be heard 
But they wham the truth wad indite. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa. 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
Here 's Maitland and Wycombe, and wha 
does na like 'em 

We '11 build in a hole o' the wa'. 
Here 's timmer that's red at the heart. 

Here 's fruit that 's sound at the core ! 
May he that would turn the buff and blue coat 

Be turned to the back o' the door. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 

And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth 
gowd. 

Though bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 
Here 's friends on baith sides o' the Forth, 

And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed ; 
And wha would betray old Albion's rights. 

May they never eat of her bread ! 

EOBEET BCJENS. 



LOCHIEL'S WARDING. 
Wizard — Lochiel. 



LooHiEL, Lochiel ! beware of the day 

When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle 

array 1 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of CuUoden are scattered in 

fight. 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and 

crown ; 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample theip 

down I 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the 

slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the 

plain. 
But hark I through the fast-flashing lightning 

of war 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 



308 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



'Tis tMne, oh Glenullin! whose bride shall 

await, 
Like a loye-lighted watch-fire, all night at the 

gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led — 
Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the 

dead ; 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, 
Cullodeu that reeks with the blood of the 

brave. 

LOOHIEL. 

Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling 

seer ! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear. 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 

WIZARD. 

Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to 

scorn ? 
Proud bh'd of the mountain, thy plume shall 

be torn ! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth 
From his home in the dark rolling clouds of 

the north ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outsp ceding, he 

rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down letf him stoop fi-om his havoc on 

high! 
Ah ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is 

nigh. 
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to 

the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament 

cast? 
Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully 

driven 
From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of 

heaven. 
Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might. 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' 

height. 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to 

burn; 
Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! 



For the blackness of ashes shaU mark where 

it stood. 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing 

brood. 

LOCHIEL. 

False wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled my 

clan; 
Their swords axe a thousand, their bosoms are 

one! 
They are true to the last of then' blood and 

their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of 

death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the 

shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on 

the rock ! 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory 

crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the 

proud. 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — 

WIZAED. 

Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ; 

For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal. 

But man cannot cover what God would re- 
veal; 

'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 

And coming events cast their shadows before. 

I tell thee, CuUoden's dread echoes shall ring 

With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugi- 
tive king. 

Lo ! anointed by heaven with the vials of 
wrath, 

Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 

Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from 
my sight : 

Rise, rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his 
flight ! 

'T is finished. Their thunders are hushed ou 
the moors ; 

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. 

But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? 
where ? 

For tlie red eye of battle is shut in despair 



I 



PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU. 



369 



Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, 

forlorn, 
liike a limb from his country cast bleeding 

and torn? 
Ah no ! for a darker departure is near ; 
The war-drum is muffled and black is the bier ; 
His death-bell is tolling. Oh ! mercy, dispel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to teU ! 
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, 
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony 

swims. 
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases 

to beat, 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the 

gale 

LOOHIEL. 

^Down, Bootless insulter! I trust not the 

tale! 
For never shall Albin a destiny meet 
So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. 
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed 

in their gore, 
Like ocean- weeds heaped on the surf-beaten 

shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by cliains. 
While the kindling of life in his bosom re- 
mains. 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low. 
With liis back to the field, and his feet to the 

foel 
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
I^ook proudly to heaven from the death-bed 
of fame, 

Thomas Campbell. 



BORDER BALLAD. 

Maeoh, march, Ettrick and Treviotdale ! 
Why the de'il dinna ye march forward in 
order ? 
March, marcli, Eskdale and Liddesdale ! 
All the Blue Bonnets are over the Border ! 
Many a banner spread 
Flutters above your head, 
Many a crest that is famous in story ! — 
Mount and make ready, then. 
Sons of the mountain glen, 
for the quoen and our old Scottish 
glory I 

51 



Fight 



Oome from the hills where your hirsels aro 
grazing; 
Come from the glen of the buck and the 
roe; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing ; 
Come with the buckler, the lance, and the 
bow. 

Trumpets are sounding ; 
War-steeds are bounding ; 
Stand to your arms, and march in good order, 
England shall many a day 
Tell of the bloody fray. 
When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border 
Sir Walter Scott. 



PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU. 

PiBEOCH of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew 

Summon Clan-Conuil ! 
Come away, come away — 

Hark to the summons ! 
Come in your war array, 

Gentles and commons. 

Come from deep glen, and 

From mountain so rocky ; 
The war-pipe and pennon 

Are at Inverlochy. 
Come every hill -plaid, and 

True heart tibat wears one ; 
Come every steel blade, and 

Strong hand that bears one. 

Leave untended the herd. 

The flock without shelter; 
Leave the corpse uninterred, 

The bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steor, 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come wha'i 

Forests are rended ; 
Come as the waves come wheu 

Navies are stranded I 



JTO 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Faster come, faster come, 

Faster and faster — 
Chief, vassal, page, and groom, 

Tenant and master ! 

Fast they come, fast they come — 

See how they gather! 
Wide waves the eagle plume, 

Blended with heather. 
Cast yonr plaids, draw your blades. 

Forward each man set ! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Kneel for the onset ! 

SiE "Walter Scott. 



WAE 'S ME FOR PEmCE CHAELIE. 

A. WEE bird came to our ha' door; 

He warbled sweet and clearly ; 
And aye the o'ercome o' his sang 

Was " Wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! " 
Oh! when I heard the bonny, bonny bird, 

The tears came drapping rarely ; 
I took my bonnet aff ray head. 

For weel I lo'ed Prince Charhe. 

t^uoth I : " My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird, 

Is that a tale ye borrow? 
Or is 't some words ye Ve learned by rote, 

Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow ? " 
•' Oh ! no, no, no ! " the wee bird sang, 

" I've flown sin' morning early ; 
But sic a day o' wind and rain ! — 

Oh ! wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! 

On hills that are by right his ain 

He roams a lonely stranger ; 
On ilka hand he 's pressed by want. 

On ilka side by danger. 
Yestreen I met him in the glen. 

My heart near bursted fairly ; 
For sadly changed indeed was he— 

Oh ! wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! 

Dark night came on ; the tempest howled 

Out owre the hills and valleys ; 
^nd whare was 't that your prince lay down, 

Whase hame should be a palace ? 
life rowed him in a Highland plaid. 

Which covered him but spra-ely, 
And slept beneath a bush o' broom — 

Oh 1 wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! " 



But now the bird saw some red coats, 

And he shook his wings wi' anger : 
" Oh ! this is noa land for me — 

I '11 tarry here nae langer." 
A while he hovered on the wing. 

Ere he departed fairly ; 
But weel I mind the farewell strain, 

'T was " Wae 's me for Prince Charlie ! " 

William Glen 



HAME, HAME, HAME! 

Hame, hame, hame ! oh hame I fain would be ! 

Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie ! 

When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is 
on the tree, 

The lark shall sing me hame to my ain coun- 
trie. 

Hame^ liame^ Jiame ! oh Jia'Tce I fain would de ! 

Oh haw,e^ hame^ hame^ to my ain countrie I 

The green leaf o' loyaltie's beginning new t^) 

fa'; 
The bonnie white rose, it is withering an' a' : 
But we '11 water it wi' the bluid of usurping 

tyrannic. 
And fresh it shall blaw in my ain countrie ! 
Hame^ hame^ hame I oh hame I fain would le I 
Oh hame^ hame^ hame^ to my ain countrie ! 

Oh there 's nocht now frae ruin my countrie 

can save, 
But the keys o' kind heaven to open the grave. 
That a' the noble martyrs who died for loy- 

altie 
May rise again and fight for their ain couQtrie. 
Hame^ hame^ hame I oh hame I fain would l>e ! 
Oh hame^ hame^ hame^ to my ain countrie ! 

The great now are gone wha attempted to 

save. 
The green grass is growing abune theii 

grave ; 
Yet the sun through the mist seems to prom- 
ise to me, 
''I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie." 
Hame^ hame^ hame ! oh hame I fain would, "be I 
Oh hame^ hame^ hame^ to my ain countrie ! 

A.LLAN CUNNINGnAM. 
i 



THE BROADSWORDS OF SCOTLAND. 



371 



MY AIN COUNTREE. 

The sua rises bright in France, 

And fair sets he ; 
But he has tint the blythe blink he had 

In my ain countree. 
Oh gladness comes to many, 

But sorrow comes to me, 
As I look o'er the wide ocean 

To my ain countree. 

Oh it 's nae my ain ruin 

That saddens aye my e'e. 
But the love I left in Galloway, 

Wi' bonnie bairnies three. 
My hamely hearth burnt bonnie, 

An' smiled my fair Marie : 
I 've left my heart behind me 

In my ain countree. 

The bud comes back to summer, 

And the blossom to the bee ; 
But I 'U win back — oh never, 

To my ain countree. 
I 'm leal to the high heaven. 

Which will be leal to me. 
An there I '11 meet ye a' sune 

Frae my ain countree. 

Allan Cunningham. 



THE BROADSWORDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Now there 's peace on the shore, now there 's 

calm on the sea. 
Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept 

us free, 
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and 
Dundee. 
Oli^ the broadswords of old Scotland/ 
And oh J the old Scottish broadswords f 

Old Sir Ralph Abercrombj'-, the good and the 

brave — 
Let him flee from our board, let him sleep 

with the slave, 
Whose libation comes slow while we honor 
his grave. 
Oh^ the broadsiDords of old Scotland ! 
And oh^ the old Scottish broadsicords ! 



Though he died not, like him, amid victory'? 

roar. 
Though disaster and gloom wove hi? shroud 

on the shore. 
Not the less we remember the spirit of Moore. 
Oh^ the broadswords of old Scotland! 
And o\ the old Scottish broadswords ! 

Yea, a place with the fallen the living shall 

claim ; 
We '11 entwine in one wreath every gloriouif 

name. 
The Gordon, the Ramsay, the Hope, and the 
Graham, 
All the broadswords of old Scotland! 
And oh^ the old Scottish broadswords ! 

Count the rocks of the Spey, count the grove:^ 

of the Forth, 
Count the stars in the clear, cloudless heaven 

of the north; 
Then go blazon their numbers, their names, 
and their worth. 
All the broadswords of old Scotland! 
And oh^ the old Scottish broadswords! 

The highest in splendor, the humblest in 

place. 
Stand united in glory, as kindred in race. 
For the private.is brother in blood to his Grace. 

Oh^ the broadswords of old Scotland ! 

And oh^ the old Scottish broadswords ! 

Then sacred to each and to all let it be. 
Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept 

us free. 
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and 
Dundee. 
(9/^, the broadswords of old Scotland ! 
And o\ the old Scottish broadswords ! 
John Gibson Lookuaux 



SONG. 



As by the shore, at break of day, 
A vanquished chief expiring lay, 
Upon the sands, with broken sword, 

lie traced his farewell to the free ; 
And, there, the last unfinished word 

He dying wrote, was " Liberty ! ' 



372 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



At night a sea-bird shrieked the knell 
Of him who thus for freedom fell ; 
The words he wrote, ere evening came, 

Were covered by the sounding sea; — 
So pass away the cause ana name 

Of him who dies for liberty ! 

Thomas Mooee. 



THE HAEP THAT ONCE THROUGH 
TARA'S HALLS. 

The harp that once through Tara's halls 

The soul of music shed, 
Xow hangs as mute on Tara's wails. 

As if that soul were fled. 
So sleeps the pride of former days, 

So glory's thrill is o'er. 
And hearts that once beat high for praise, 

ITow feel that pulse no more. 

No more to chiefs and ladies bright 

The harp of Tara swells ; 
The chord alone that breaks at night 

Its tale of ruin tells. 
Thus freedom now so seldom wakes. 

The only throb she gives 
Is when some heart indignant breaks 

To show that still she lives. 

Thomas Mooee. 



ODE. 



How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
By all their country's wishes biessed ! 
When spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Retm-ns to deck their hallowed mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung ; 
By forms unseen their dirge is sang ; 
There honor comes, a pilgrim gray. 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
And freedom shall awhile repair. 
To dwell a weeping hermit there I 

William Collins. 



PEACE TO THE SLUMBERERS 

Peace to the slumberers ! 

They lie on the battle-plain, 
With no shroud to cover them ; 

The dew and the summer rain 
And all that sweep over them. 

Peace to the slumberers ! 

Vain was their bravery ! 

The fallen oak lies where it lay 
Across the wintry river ; 

But brave hearts, once swept away, 
Are gone, alas ! forever. 

Yain was their bravery ! 

Woe to the conqueror ! 

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs 
Of whom his sword bereft us. 

Ere we forget the deep arrears 
Of vengeance they have left us ! 

Woe to the conqueror ! 

Thomas Moouh 



SHAN YAN YOCHT. 

Oh ! the French are on the say, 

Says the Shan Yan Yocht ; 
The French are on the say, 

Says the Shan Yan Yocht ! 

Oh ! the French are in the bay ; 

They'll be here without delay. 

And the Orange will decay, 

Says the Shan Yan Yocht. 

Oh ! the French are in the 'bay^ 
They'll 'be here by break of day^ 
And the Orange will decay ^ 
Says the Shan Van Vocht. 

And where will they have their camp ? 

Says the Shan Yan Yocht ; 
Where will they have their camp ? 

Says the Shan Yan Yocht, 
On the Currach of Kildare ; 
The boys they will be there 
With their pikes in good repair. 

Says the Shan Yau Yocht. 



GOD SAVE KING. 



378 



To the Gurrach of Kildare 
The hoys they will repair^ 
And Lord Edward will le there^ 
Says the Shan Van Vocht, 



Then what will the yeomen do ? 

Says the Shan Van Yocht ; 
What will the yeomen do ? 

Says the Shan Yan Yocht ; 
What should the yeomen do, 
But throw off the red and blue, 
A.nd swear that they 'U be true 
To the Shan Yan Yocht. 
What should the yeoman do^ 
But throw off the Red and Blue^ 
And STiJoear that they HI le true 
To the Shan Van Vocht ! 



And what color will they wear? 

Says the Shan Yan Yocht ; 
What color will they wear ? 

Says the Shan Yan Yocht ; 
"What color should be seen. 
Where our fathers' homes have been, 
But our own immortal green? 
Says the Shan Yan Yocht. 
What color should he seen^ 
Where our fathers^ homes have leen^ 
But our own immortal green f 
Says the SJian Van Vocht, 



And will Ireland then be free ? 

Says the Shan Yan Yocht ; 
Will Ireland then be free ? 

Says the Shan Yan Yocht ! 
Yes ! Ireland shall be free. 
From the centre to the sea ; 
Then hurra ! for liberty ! 
Says the Shan Yan Yocht. 
Yes! Ireland shall he free^ 
From the centre to the seg, ; 
Then hurra ! for liberty ! 
Says the Shan Van Vocht, 

Anonymous. 



GOD SAYE THE KING. 

God save our gracious king ! 
Long live our noble king ! 

God save the king ! 
Send him victorious, 
Happy and glorious, 
Long to reign over us — 

God save the king ! 

O Lord our God, arise ! 
Scatter his enemies. 

And make them fall , 
Confound their politics, 
Frustrate their knavish trickt^ ; 
On him our hopes we fix, 

God save us all ! 

Thy choicest gifts in store 
On him be pleased to pour ; 

Long may he reign. 
May he defend our laws. 
And ever give us cause. 
To sing with heart and voice — 

God save the king ! 

ANOirVwoub. 



HOW THEY BEOUGHT THE GOOD 
NEWS FEOM GHENT TO AIX. 

I SPRAXG to the stirrup, and Joris and he : 

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped aU 
three ; 

"Good speed! " cried the watch as the gate- 
bolts undrew, 

'^ Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping 
through. 

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank t<: 
rest, 

And into tlie midnight we galloped abreast. 

Not a word to each other; we kept the great 
pace — 

Neck by neck, stride by stride, never (hang- 
ing our place ; 



374 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



i turned in my saddle and made its girths tight. 
Then shortened each stirrup and set the 

pique right, 
Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker 

the bit, 
Nor galloped less steadily Eoland a whit. 

Twas a moonset at starting; but while we 

drew near 
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned 

clear ; 
At Boom a great yellow star came out to see ; 
At Dtiffeld 't w^as morning as plain as could be ; 
And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard 

the half-chime — 
So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is 

time ! " 

At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, 
And against him the cattle stood black every 

one, 
To stare through the mist at us galloping past ; 
And I saw my stout galloper Eoland at last, 
With resolute shoulders, each butting away 
The haze, as some bluff river headland its 

spray, 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp 

ear bent back 
For my voice, and the other pricked out on 

Ms track ; 
And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that 

glance 
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, 

askance ; 
And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye 

and anon 
His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. 

By Hasselt Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, 

" Stay spur! 
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault 's not 

in her ; 
We '11 remember at Aix " — for one heard the 

quick wheeze 
Of Iier chest, saw the stretched neck, and 

staggering knees. 
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the 

flank, 
Aa down on her haunches she shuddered and 

Bank. 



So we were If^ft galloping, Joris and I, 

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the 
sky; 

The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh; 

'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stub- 
ble like chaff; 

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spiro sprang 
white,. 

And '' Gallop " gasped Joris, " for Aix is m 
sight ! " 

" How they '11 greet us ! " — and all in a mo- 
ment his roan 

Eolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a 
stone ; 

And there was my Eoland to bear the whole 
weight 

Of the news which alone could save Aix from 
her fate. 

With his nostrils like pits fuU of blood to the 
brim. 

And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' 
rim. 

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holstr'i 

let fall, 
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and 

all, 
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted hiy 

ear. 
Called my Eoland his pet-name, my horse 

without peer — 
Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any 

noise, bad or good. 
Till at length into Aix Eoland galloped and 

stood. 

And all I remember is friends flocking round. 

As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on 
the ground ; 

And no voice but was praising this Eoland 
of mine, 

As I poure*d down his throat our last meas- 
ure of wine, 

Which (the burgesses voted by common con- 
sent) 

Was no more than his due who brought good 
news from Ghent. 

KOBEET BkOVNLMG. 



INDIAN DEATH-SONG. 



INDIAN DEATH-SONG. 

luE 8un setii: in night, and the stars shun the 
day; 

Hut glory remains when their lights fade 
away. 

f >egin, you tormentors ! your threats are in 
vain, 

For the sons of Alknomook will never com- 
plain. 

Remember the arrows he shot from his how ; 

Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid 
low! 

Why so slow ? do you wait till I shrink from 
the pain ? 

No ! the son of Alknomook shall never com- 
plain. 

Remember the wood where in ambush we 
lay, 

And the scalps which we bore from your 
nation away. 

Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my 
pain; 

liut the son of Alknomook can never com- 
plain. 

1 go to the land where my father is gone ; 
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son. 
^eatli comes, like a friend, to relieve me from 

pain; 
And thy son, Alknomook ! has scorned to 

complain. 

Anne Hunter. 



INDIAN DEATH-SONG. 

On the mat lie 's sitting there — 

See ! he sits upright — 
With the same look that lie ware 

When he saw the light. 

But where now the hand's clenched 
weight ? 

Whore the breath he drew, 
That to the Great Spirit late 

Forth the pipe-smoke blew ? 



Where the eyes that, falcon-keen, 

Marked the reindeer pass. 
By the dew upon the green. 

By the waving grass ? 

These the limbs that, un confined 
Bounded through the snow, 

Like the stag that's twenty -turned, 
Like the mountain roe ! 

These the arms that, stout and tense. 

Did the bow-string twang ! 
See, the life is parted hence! 

See, how loose they hang ! 

Well for him ! he 's gone his ways, 
Where are no more snows ; 

Where the fields are decked with maize 
That unplanted grows ; — 

Where with beasts of chase each wood- 
Where with birds each tree. 

Where with fish is every flood 
Stocked full pleasantly. 

He above with spirits feeds; — 

We, alone and dim, 
Left to celebrate his deeds. 

And to bury him. 

Bring the last sad offerings hither ; 

Chant the death-lament ; 
All inter, with him together. 

That can him content. 

' Neath his head the hatchet hide 

That he swung so strong ; 
And the bear's ham set beside, 

For the way Is long ; 

Then the knife — sharp let it be — 
That from foeman's crown, 

Quick, with dexterous cuts but throix 
Skin and tuft brought down ; 

Paints, to smear his frame about. 

Set within his hand, 
That he redly may shine out 

In the spirits' laud. 

Fkei>kuiok Sf hiller. (German.) 
Translation of N. L. Frotiiin(.iiam. 



376 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



THE LANDIiTG OF THE PTLGRIM 
FATHERS m JSTEW-Ei^GLAND. 

" Look now abroad — another race has jQlled 
Those populous borders — \Yide the wood recedes, 
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled ; 
The land is full of harvests and green meads." 

Bryant. 



The breaking waves daslied high, 
On a stern and rock-bound coast, 

And the woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed ; 

And the heavy night hnng dark, 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild ITew-England shore, 

ISTot as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came ; 
ts'ot ^vith the roll of the stirring drums. 

And the trumpet that sings of fame; 

N'ot as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear ; — 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang. 
And the stars heard, and the sea ; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods 
rang 
To the anthem of the free. 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam ; 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared — 

This was their welcome home. 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrim band : 
Why had they come to wither there. 

Away from their childhood's land ? 

There was woman's fearless eye. 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
riiere was manliood's brow serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 



What sought they thus afar ? 

Bright jewels of the mme "? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? — 

They sought a faith's pure shrine I 

Ay, call it holy ground. 

The soil where first they trod ; — 
They have left unstained what there 
found — 
Freedom to worship God. 

Felicia Hemanb. 



thoy 



0^ 



THE PEOSPECT OF PLANTIi^G 
ARTS AND LEARIsIKG IN 
AMERICA. 



The Muse, disgusted at an age and clirae 
Barren of every glorious theme, 

In distant lands now waits a better time, 
Producing subjects worthy fame ; 

In happy chmes, where from the genial sun 
And virgin earth such scenes ensue, 

The force of art by nature seems outdone. 
And fancied beauties by the true ; 

In happy climes the seat of innocence. 

Where nature guides and virtue rules, 
Where men shall not impose for truth and 
sense, 

The pedantry of courts and schools- 
There shall be sung another golden age. 

The rise of empire and of arts, 
The good and great uprising epic rage. 

The wisest heads and noblest hearts. 

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay ; 

Such as she bred when fresh and young, 
When heavenly flame did animate her clay. 

By future poets shall be sung. 

Westward the course of empire take its way: 
The four flrst acts already past, 

A fifth shall close the drama with the day ; 
Time's noblest oflspring is the last. 

Geoegb Berkeley 



I 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 



377 



i 



CARMEN BELLIOOSUM. 

Ik their ragged regimentals 
Stood tjie old continentals, 

Yielding not, 
Wlien the grenadiers were lunging, 
And like hail fell the plunging 
Cannon-shot ; 
When the files 
Of the isles, 
From the smoky night encampment, bore the 
banner of lihe rampant 
Unicorn, 
And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the 
roll of the drummer. 
Through the morn ! 

Then with eyes to the front all, 
And with guns horizontal. 

Stood our sires ; 
And the balls whistled deadly. 
And in streams flashing redly 
Blazed the fires ; 
As the roar 
On the shore, 
Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the 
green-sodded acres 
Of the plain ; 
And louder, louder, louder, cracked the 
black gunpowder. 
Cracking amain I 

Now like smiths at their forges 
Worked the red St. George's 

Cannoniers ; 
And the *' villainous saltpetre " 
Rung a fierce, discordant metre 
Round their ears ; 
As the swift 
Storm- drift. 
With hot sweeping anger, came the horse- 
guards' clangor 
On our flanks. 
riien higher, higher, higher, burned the old- 
fashioned fire 

Through the ranks I 

Then the old-fashioned colonel 
Galloped through the white infernal 
Powder-cloud ; 



And his broad sword was swinging, 
And his brazen throat was ringing 
Trumpet loud. 
Then the blue 
Bullets flew. 
And the trooper-jackets redden at the toucJi 
of the leaden 
Rifle-breath ; 
And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the 
iron six-pounder. 
Hurling death ! 

Guy Humphrey MoMastkb. 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 

Our band is few, but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and bold ; 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood, " 

Our tent the cypress-tree ; 
We know the forest round us. 

As seamen know the sea ; 
We know its walls of thorny vine«, 

Its glades of reedy grass. 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. 

Wo to the English soldiery 

That little dread ns near ! 
On them shall fight at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear ; 
When, waking to their tents on fire, 

They grasp their arms in vain, 
And they who stand to fiice us 

Are beat to earth again ; 
And they who fly in terror, deem 

A mighty host behind, 
And hear the tramp of thousands 

Upon the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 

From danger and from toil ; 
We talk the battle over, 

And share the battle's spoil. 
The woodlands ring with laugh and shout 

As if a hunt were up. 
And woodland flowers are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 



378 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



With merry songs we mock the wind 

That in the pine-top grieves, 
And slumber long and sweetly 

On beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads — 
The glitter of their rifles, 

The scampering of ttieir steeds. 
'T is life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain ; 
'T is life to feel the night- wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British camp — 

A moment — and away ! 
Back to the pathless forest, 

Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs ; 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band 

With kindliest welcoming. 
With smiles like those of summer, 

And tears Hke those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms, 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton, 

For ever, from our shore. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



THE STAR-SPAN^GLED BAITlsrER. 

On! say, can you see by the dawn's early 

light 
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's 

last gleaming — 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through 

the perilous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so ga.^- 

lantly streaming ! 
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs burst- 
ing in air 
Gave proof through the night that our flag 

was still there ; 
Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet 

wave 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of 

the brave ? 



On that shore, dimly seen through the mists 

of the deep. 
Where the foe's haughty host m dread silence 

reposes. 
What is that which the breeze, o'er the tow- 
ering steep, 
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now dh- 

closes ? 
I^ow it catches the gleam of the morning's 

first beam, 
In full glory reflected, now shines on the 

stream ; 
'T is the star-spangled banner ; oh, long may 

it wave 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the 

brave ! 

And where is that band who so vauntingly 

swore 
That the havoc of war and the battle's con- 

fasion 
A home and a country should leave us no 

more? 
Their blood has washed out their foul foot 

steps' pollution. 
Xo refuge could save the hireling and slave 
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the 

grave ; 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth 

wave 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the 

brave. 

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall 
stand 

Between their loved homes and the war's 
desolation ! 

Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven- 
rescued land 

Praise the power that hath made and pre- 
served us a nation. 

Then conquer we must, for our cause it 1**3 
just; 

And this be our motto — " In God is oui 
trust "— 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph 
shall wave 

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the 
brave. 

Feancis Soott Key. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 



8*70 



THE AMERICAN FLAG, 



When freedom from her mountain height 
Unfurled her standard to the air, 

She tore the azure rohe of night, 
And set the stars of glory there ; 

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 

The milky baldric of the skies, 

And striped its pure, celestial white 

With streakings of the morning light ; 

Then from his mansion in the sun 

She called her eagle hearer down, 

And gave into his mighty hand 

The symbol of her chosen land. 

n. 
Majestic monarch of the cloud ! 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest-trum pings loud, 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven — 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke, 
And bid its blendings shine afar. 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war. 

The harbingers of victory ! 

III. 
Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly. 
The sign of hope and triumph high. 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone. 

And the long line comes gleaming on ; 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet. 
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. 
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 

To where thy sky-born glories burn. 
And, as his springing steps advance. 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And when the cannon-moathings loud 

Heave in wild wreathes the battle-shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall. 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pal], 
Then shall thy meteor-glances glow. 
And cowering foes shall sink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 
That lovely messenger of death. 



Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 
When death, careering on the gale, 

Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail. 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 

Before the broadside's reeling rack. 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 

Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 



Flag of the free heart's hope and home, 

By angel hands to valor given; 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
For ever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us I 
Joseph Rodman Draxk. 



MOTHER OF A MIGHTY RACE. 

MOTHEE of a mighty race, 
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace ! 
The elder dames, thy haughty peers. 
Admire and hate thy blooming years ; 

With words of shame 
And taunts of scorn they join thy name. 

For on thy cheeks the glow is spread 
That tints thy morning hills with red ; 
Thy step — the wild deer's rustling feet 
Within thy woods are not more fleet ; 

Thy hopeful eye 
Is bright as thine own sunny sky. 

Ay, let them rail — those haughty ones, 
While safe thou dwellest with thy sons I 
They do not know how loved thou art, 
How many a fond and fearless heart 

Would rise to throw 
Its life between thee and the foe. 

They know not, in their hate and pride,* 
What virtues ivith thy children bide — 



380 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



How true, how good, thy gracefal maids 
Make bright, like flowers, the valley shades ; 

What generous men 
Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen ; 

What cordial welcomes greet the guest 
By thy lone rivers of the west ; 
How faith is kept, and truth revered, 
And man is loved, and God is feared. 

In woodland homes. 
And where the ocean border foams. 

There 's freedom at thy gates, and rest 
For earth's down-trodden and opprest, 
A shelter for the hunted head, 
For the starved laborer toil and bread. 

Power, at thy bounds, 
Stops, and calls back his baffled hounds, 

fair young mother ! on thy brow 
ShaU sit a nobler grace than now. 
Deep in the brightness of thy skies. 
The thronging years in glory rise, 

And, as they fleet. 
Drop strength and riches at thy feet. 

Thme eye, with every coming hour, 
BhaU brighten, and thy form shall tower ; 
And when thy sisters, elder born. 
Would brand thy name with words of scorn, 

Before thine eye 
Upon their lips the taunt shall die, 

William Ctjllejt Bryant. 



OUR STATE. 

The south-land boasts its teeming cane, 
The prairied west its heavy grain, 
And sunset's radiant gates unfold 
On rising marts and sands of gold ! 

Rough, bleak and hard, our little state 
Is scant of soil, of limits strait ; 
Her yellow sands are sands alone, 
Her only mines are ice and stone ! 

From autumn frost to AprU rain. 
Too long her winter woods complain • 
From budding flower to falling leaf. 
Her summer time is all too brief. 



Yet, on her rocks, and on her sands, 
And wir_try hills, the school-house standi ; 
And what her rugged soul denies 
The harvest of the mind supplies. 

The riches of the commonwealth 
Are free, strong minds, and hearts of healtli ; 
And more to her than gold or grain 
The cunning hand and cultured brain. 

For well she keeps her ancient stock, 
The stubborn strength of Pilgrim Rock ; 
And still maintains, with milder laws, 
And clearer light, the good old cause ! 

J^or heeds the sceptic's puny hands, 
While near her school the church-spire 

stands ; 
'Roy fears the blinded bigot's rule. 
While near her chm^ch-spire stands the 
school. 

John GREENLEAy Whtttteb. 



I 



THE BATTLE-FIELD. 

Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, 

And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the battle-cloud. 

Ah ! never shall the land forget 

How gushed the hfe-blood of her brave — 
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, 

Upon the soil they fought to save. 

Kow all is calm, and fresh, and still : 

Alone the chirp of flitting bird, 
And talk of childi*en on the hill. 

And bell of wandering kine are heard. 

IvTo solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouthed gun and staggenng 
wain ; 
Men start not at the battle-cry — 

Oh, be it never heard again I 

Soon rested those who fought ; but thoQ 
Who minglest in the harder strife 

For truths which men receive not now. 
Thy warfare only ends with life. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 



881 



A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
Through weary day and weaiy year ; 

A wild and many-weaponed throng 
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 

^et nerve thy spirit to the proof. 
And blench not at thy chosen lot ; 

riie timid good may stand aloof, 
The sage may frown — yet faint thon not. 

N"or heed the shaft too surely cast. 
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ; 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last. 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again — 
The eternal years of God are hers ; 

But error, wounded, writhes in pain. 
And dies among his worshippers. 

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust. 
When they who helped thee flee in fear, 

Die fall of hope and manly trust, 
Like those who fell in battle here ! 

Another hand thy sword shall wield, 
Another hand the standard wave, 

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



mo:n"terey. 

We were not many — we who stood 

Before the iron sleet that day ; 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Grive half his years if but he could 

Have been with us at Monterey. 

N'ow here, now there, the shot it hailed 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray, 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round them wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on — still on our column kept 

Through walls of flame its withering way ; 
Where fell the dead, the li\dng stept, 
^t\M charging on the guns which swept 
The slippery streets of Monterey. 

The foe himself recoiled aghast. 

When, striking where he strongest lay. 
We swooped his flanking batteries past, 
And braving full their murderous blast. 
Stormed home tlie towers of Montcrev. 



Our banners on those turrets wave. 

And there our evening bugles play ; 
Where orange boughs above then* grave, 
Keep green the memory of the brave 
Who fought and fell at Monterey. 

We are not many — we who pressed 

Beside the brave who fell that day ; 
But who of us has not confessed 
He 'd rather share their warrior rest 
Than not have been at Monterey ? 

CHAELE3 FeNNO HoFPMAIT, 



BAEBARA FRIETCHIE. 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn. 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach-tree fniited deep, 

Fair as a garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde ; 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,— 

Over the mountains, winding down. 
Horse and foot into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars. 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind ; the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then. 
Bowed with her fourscore years ard ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town. 

She took up the flag the men hauled down ; 

In her attic- window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up ths street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding aliead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 

^'Ilalt! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast ; 
" Fire I " — out blazed the rifle-blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and eash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and giish. 



382 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; 

She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

*' Shoot, if you must, this old grey head, 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman's deed and word : 

Who touches a hair of yon grey head 
Dies like a dog ! March on ! " he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet ; 

All day long that free flag tost 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night, 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her 1 and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 
Flag of freedom and union, wave ! 

Peace, and order, and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law ; 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town! 

John Gkeenleap Whittiee. 



THE BLACK REGBIENT. 
MAY 27th, 1863. 
Daek as the clouds of even. 
Ranked in the western heaven. 
Waiting the breath that lifts 
All the dead mass, and drifts 
Tempest and falliug brand 
Over a ruined land ; — 
So still and orderly, 
Arm to arm, knee to knee, 
Waiting the great event, 
Stands the black regiment 



Down the long dusky line 
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine; 
And the bright bayonet, 
Bristling and firmly set, 
Flashed with a purpose grand, 
Long ere the sharp command 
Of the fierce rolling drum 
Told them their time had come. 
Told them what work was sent 
For the black regiment. 

" Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 
' Though death and hell betide. 
Let the whole nation see 
Lf we are fit to be 
Free in this land ; or bound 
Down, hke the whining hound — 
Bound with red stripes of pain 
In our cold chains again ! " 
Oh ! what a shout there went 
From the black regiment! 

" Charge ! " Trump and drum awoke; 
Onward the bondmen broke ; 
Bayonet and sabre-stroke 
Vainly opposed their rush. 
Through the wild battle's crush, 
With but one thought aflush. 
Driving their lords like chaff. 
In the guns' mouths they laugh ; 
Or at the slippery brands 
Leaping with open hands, 
Down they tear man and horse, 
Down in their awful course ; 
Trampling with bloody heel 
Over the crashing steel ; — 
All their eyes forward bent, 
Rushed the black regiment. 

" Freedom ! " their battle-cry — 
'' Freedom ! or leave to die ! " 
Ah ! and they meant the word, 
Xot as with us 'tis heard, 
Not a mere party shout ; 
They gave their spirits out^ 
Trusted the end to God, 
And on the gory sod 
Rolled in triumphant blood. 
Glad to strike one free blow. 
Whether for weal or woe ; 
Glad to breathe one free breatli. 
Though on the lips of death ; 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 



38b 



Praying — alas ! in vain ! — 
That they might fall again, 
So they could once more see 
That burst to liberty ! 
This was what '' freedom " lent 
To the black regiment. 

Hundreds on hundreds fell ; 
But they are resting well ; 
Scourges and shackles strong 
Never shall do them wrong. 
Oh, to the living few. 
Soldiers, be just and true ! 
Hail them as comrades tried ; 
Fight with them side by side ; 
Never, in field or tent. 
Scorn the black regiment ! 

George Henry Bokbpw 



INCIDENI OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 



You know we French stormed liatisboi. . 

A mile or so away. 
On a little mound. Napoleon 

8tood on our storming-day ; 
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how. 

Legs wide, arms locked behind. 
As if to balance the prone brow, 

Oppressive with its mind. 



Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall, 
Let once my army-leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall," — 
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound. 

III. 
Then off there flung in smihng joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse\s mane, a boy : 

You hardly could suspect — 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through) 
Yon looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 



IV. 

" Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace 

We 've got you Ratisbon ! 
The marshal 's in the market-place. 

And you '11 be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire, 
Perched him! " The chiefs eye flashed; his 
plans 

Soared up again like fire. 



The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother eagle's eye 

When her bruised eaglet breathes : 
" You 're wounded ! " " Nay," his soldier'e 
pride 

Touched to the quick, he said : 
" I 'm killed, sire ! " And, his chief beside, 

Smiling, the boy fell dead. 

Robert Browniko. 



HOHENLINDEN. 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight 
When the drum beat, at dead of night. 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fiist arrayed, 
Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
And furious every charger neighed 
To join the dreadful revelry. 

Then shook the hills with thunder riven j 
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven ; 
And, louder than the bolts of heaven, 
Far flashed the red artillery. 

But redder yet those fires shall glow 
On Linden's hills of crimsoned snow, 
And bloodier yet shall be the flow 
Of Iscr, rolling rapidly. 

'T is morn ; but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 



6U 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 
Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave, 
Who rush to glory or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, 
And charge with all thy chivalry ! 

Few, few shall part where many meet ! 
The snow shall be their winding-sheet ; 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier^s sepulchre. 

Thomas Campbell. 



THE OHAEGE OF THE LIGHT BRIG- 
ADE AT BALAKLAYA. 

Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 
AQ in the valley of death. 

Rode the six hundred. 

Into the valley of death 

Rode the six hundred ; 
For up came an order which 

Some one had blundered. 
" Forward, the light brigade ! 
Take the guns ! " Nolan said : 
Into the valley of death, 

Rode the six hundred. 

" Forward the light brigade ! " 
No man was there dismayed — 
Not though the soldier knew 

Some one had blundered : 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die — 
Into the valley of death. 

Rode the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them. 

Volleyed and thundered. 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well ; 
Into the jaws of death. 
Into the mouth of hell, 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flashed all their sabres bare, 
Flashed all at once in air, 



Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wondered. 
Plunged in the battery smoke. 
With many a desp'rate stroke 
The Russian line they broke ; 
Then they rode back, but not — 

Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them. 
Cannon to left of them. 
Cannon behind them, 

Volleyed and thundered. 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell. 
Those that had fought so well 
Came from the jaws of death, 
Back from the mouth of heU, 
All that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade ? 
Oh the wild charge they made ! 

AH the world wondered. 
Honor the charge they made ! 
Honor the light brigade, 

Noble six hundred ! 

Alfred Tenntsoiu 



YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND : 

A NAVAL ODE. 
I. 

Ye mariners of England ! 

That guard our native seas ; 

Wliose flag has braved, a thousand years, 

The battle and the breeze ! 

Your glorious standard launch again. 

To match another foe ! 

And sweep through the deep 

While the stormy winds do blow ; 

While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

II. 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave ! — 

For the deck it was their field of fame. 

And ocean was their grave. 

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 

Your manly hearts shall glow, 



BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 



385 



As ye sweep through the deep 
While the stormy winds do hlow — 
While the hattle rages loud and long, 
And the stormy winds do blow. 



Britannia needs no bulwarks, 

No towers along the steep ; 

Her march is o'er the mountain- wave, 

Her home is on the deep. 

With thunders from her native oak 

She quells the floods below, 

As they roar on the shore 

When the stormy winds do blow — 

When the battle rages loud and long. 

And the stormy winds do blow. 



The meteor flag of England 

Shall yet terrific burn. 

Till danger's troubled night depart. 

And the star of peace return. 

Then, then, ye ocean- warriors ! 

Our song and feast shall flow 

To the fame of your name, 

When the storm has ceased to blow — 

When the fiery fight is heard no more, 

And the storm has ceased to blow. 

Thomas Campbell. 



BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 



Of Il^elson and the north 

Sing the glorious day's renown, 

When to battle fierce came forth 

All the might of Denmark's crown. 

And her arms along the deep proudly 

shone ; 
By each gun the lighted brand 
In a bold determined hand. 
And the prince of all the land 
Led them on. 

II. 

Like leviathans afloat 
Lay their bulwarks on the brine; 
While the sign of battle flew 
On the lofty British line — 
53 



It was ten of April morn by the chime. 
As they drifted on their path 
There was silence deep as death ; 
And the boldest held his breath 
For a time. 

III. 

But the might ot England flushed 

To anticipate the scene ; 

And her van the fleeter rushed 

O'er the deadly space between. 

" Hearts of oak ! " our captain cried ; whei: 

each gun * 

From its adamantine lips 
Spread a death-shade round the ships, 
Like the hurricane eclipse 
Of the sun. 



Again! again! again! 

And the havock did not slack, 

Till a feeble cheer the Dane 

To our cheering sent us back ; 

Their shots along the deep slowly boom— 

Then ceased — and all is wail, 

As they strike the shattered sail, 

Or, in conflagration pale, 

Light the gloom. 

V. 

Out spoke the victor then. 

As he hailed them o'er the wave : 

" Ye are brothers! ye are men! 

And we conquer but to save ; 

So peace instead of death let us bring ; 

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet. 

With the crews, at England's feet, 

And make submission meet 

To our king." 

VI. 

Then Denmark blessed our chief, 

That he gave her wounds repose ; 

And the sounds of joy and grief 

From her people wildly rose. 

As death withdrew his shades from the 

day. 
While the sun looked smiling bright 
O'er a wide and woeful sight, 
Where the fires of funeral light 
Died away. 



a86 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



Now joy, old England, raise! 
For the tidings of thj might, 
By the festal cities' blaze, 
Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ; 
And yet, amidst that joy and uproar, 
Let us think of them that sleep 
Full many a fathom deep. 
By thy wild and stormy steep, 
Elsinore ! 

YIII. 

Brave heart*! ^io Britain's pride 
Once so faithful and so true. 
On the deck of fame that died, 
. With the gallant good Kiou — 
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their 

grave ! 
While the billow mournful rolls, 
And the mermaid's song condoles. 
Singing glory to the souls 
Of the brave ! 

Thomas Campbell. 



THE SEA FIGHT. 

AS TOLD BY AN ANCIENT MAEINER. 

A II, yes — the light ! Well, messmates, well, 
I served on board that Ninety-eight ; 

^et what I saw I loathe to tell. 
To-night, be sure a crushing weight 

Upon my sleeping breast — a hell 
Of dread will sit. At any rate, 

Though land-locked here, a watch I '11 keep — 

Grrog cheers us still. Who cares for sleep ? 

That Ninety-eight I sailed on board ; 

Along the Frenchman's coast we flew ; 
Right aft the rising tempest roared ; 

A noble first-rate hove in view ; 
And soon high in the gale there soared 

Her streamed-out bunting — ^red, white, 
blue! 
We cleared for fight, and landward bore. 
To get between the chase and shore. 

Masters, I cannot spin a yarn 
Twice laid with words of silken stufi: 

A. fact 's a fact ; and ye may larn 
The rights o' this, though wild and rough 



My words may loom. 'T is your consarn, 
Not mine, to understand. Enough ; — 
We neared the Frenchman where he lay, 
And as we neared, he blazed away. 



We tacked, hove to ; we filled, we wore 
Pid all that seamanship could do 

To rake him aft, or by the fore— 
Now rounded ofl* and now broached to ; 

And now our starboard broadside bore, 
And showers of iron through and througl. 

His vast hull hissed ; our larboard then 

Swept from his three-fold decks his men. 

As we, like a huge serpent, toiled, 
And wound about, through that wild sea, 

The Frenchman each manoeuvre foiled — 
'Vantage to neither there could be. 

Whilst thus the waves between us boiled, 
We both resolved right manfully 

To fight it side by side ; — began 

Then the fierce strife of man to man. 

Gun bellows forth to gun, and pain 
Rings out her wild, delirious scream ! 

Redoubling thunders shake the main ; 
Loud crashing, falls the shot-rent beam. 

The timbers with the broadsides strain ; 
The slippery decks send up a steam 

From hot and living blood — and high 

And shrill is heard the death-pang cry. 

The shredded limb, the splintered bone, 
Th' unstifiened corpse, now block the way J 

Who now can hear the dying groan ? 
The trumpet of the judgment day. 

Had it pealed forth its mighty tone. 

We should not then have heard, — to say 

Would be rank sin ; but this I tell. 

That could alone our madness quell 

Upon the fore-castle I fought 

As captain of the for'ad gun. 
A scattering shot the carriage caught I 

What mother then had known her son 
Of those who stood around ? — distraught, 

And smeared with gore, about they run, 
Then fall, and writhe, and howling die ! 
But one escaped — that one was I ! 



CASABIANCA. 



387 



N^ight darkened round, and the storm pealed, 

To windward of us lay the foe. 
As he to leeward over keeled, 

He -could not fight his guns below ; 
So just was going to strike — w^hen reeled 

Our vesse., as if some vast blow 
From an Almighty hand had rent 
The huge ship from her element. 

Then howled the thunder. Tumult then 
Had stunned herself to silence. Kound 

Were scattered lightning-blasted men ! 
Our mainmast went. All stifled, drowned, 

Arose the Frenchman's shout. Again 
The bolt burst on us, and we found 

Oar masts all gone — our decks all riven : 

— Man's war mocks faintly that of heaven ! 

Just then — nay, messmates, laugh not now — 

As I, amazed, one minute stood 
Amidst that rout ; I know not how — 

'T was silence all — the raving flood. 
The guns that pealed from stem to bow. 

And God's own thunder — nothing could 
I then of all that tumult hear. 

Or see aught of that scene of fear. 

My aged mother at her door 
Sat mildly o'er her humming wheel ; 

The cottage, orchard, and the moor — 
I saw them plainly all. I'll kneel. 

And swear I saw them ! Oh, they wore 
A look all peace. Could I but feel 

Again that bliss that then I felt. 

That made my heart, like childhood's, melt ! 

The blessed tear was on my cheek, 

She smiled with that old smile I know : 

" Turn to me, mother, turn and speak," 
"Was on my quivering lips — when lo I 

All vanished, and a dark, red streak 
Glared wild and vivid from the foe, 

That flashed upon the blood-stained water — 

For fore and aft the flames liad caught her. 

She struck and hailed us. On us fast 
All burning, helplessly, she came — 

Near, and more near ; and not a mast 
Had we to help us from that flame. 

Twas then the bravest stood agliast — 
'Twas then the wicked, on the name 

(With danger and with guilt appalled,) 

()f God, too long neglected, called. 



Th' eddying flames with ravening tongue 
Now on our ship's dark bulwarks dash — 

We almost touched — when ocean rung 
Down to its depths with one loud crash \ 

In heaven's top vault one instant hung 
The vast, intense, and blinding flash ! 

Then all was darkness, stillness, dread — 

The wave moaned o'er the valiant dead. 

She 's gone I blown up ! that gallant foe I 
And though she left us in a plight, 

We floated still ; long wera, I know, 
And hard, the labors of that night 

To clear the wreck. At length in tow 
A frigate took us, when 't was light ; 

And soon an English port we gained — • 

A hulk all battered and blood-stained. 

So many slain — so many drowned! 

I like not of that fight to tell. 
Come, let the cheerful grog go round ! 

Messmates, I've done. A spell, ho, spell- 
Though a pressed man, I '11 still be found 

To do a seaman's duty well. 
I wish our brother landsmen knew 
One half we jolly tars go through. 

ANOKTMOUa 



CASABIANCA. 

The boy stood on the burning deck 
Whence all but he had fled ; 

The flame that lit the battle's wreck 
Shone round him o'er the dead. 

Yet beautiful and bright he stood, 

As born to rule the storm ; 
A creature of heroic blood, 

A proud, though child-like form. 

The flames rolled on — ^he would not g(j 

Without his father's word ; 
That father, faint in death below, 

His voice no longer heard. 

He called aloud — "Say, father, s«av. 

If yet my task is done ? " 
He knew not that the chieftain hiy 

Unconscious of his son. 



388 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



" Speak, father ! " once again he cried, 

" If I may yet be gone ! " 
And but the booming shots replied, 

And fast the flames rolled on. 

Upon his brow he felt their breath. 

And in his waving hair. 
And looked from that lone post of death 

In stiU, yet brave despair. 

And shouted but once more aloud, 

"• My father ! must I stay ? " 
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, 

The wreathing fires made way. 

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, 

They caught the flag on high, 
And streamed above the gallant child, 

Like banners in the sky. 

There came a burst of thunder sound — 

The boy — oh ! where was he ? 
ksk of the winds that far around 

With fragments strewed the sea ! — 

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair. 
That well had borne their part — 

But the noblest thing that perished there 
W/is that young, faithful heart ! 

Telicia Doeothea Hemans. 



SONG OF THE GREEK POET. 

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung. 
Where grew the arts of war and peace — 

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! 
Eternal summer gilds them yet ; 
But all, except their sun, is set. 

The Sc:an and the Teian muse. 
The hero's harp, the lover's lute, 

Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 
Their place of biith alone is mute 

To sounds which echo further west 

Than your sires' " Islands of the Blest." 

The mountains look on Marathon, 
And Marathon looks on the sea : 

And musing there an hour alone, 
I dreamed that Greece might still be free ; 

For standing on the Persians' grave, 

I could not deera mvself a slave. 



A king sat on the rocky brow 

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; 

And ships, by thousands, lay below, 
And men in nations — all were his ! 

He counted them at break of day — 

And when the sun set, where were they ? 

And where are they ? and where art thou 
My country ? On thy voiceless shore 

The heroic lay is tuneless now — 
The heroic bosom beats no more ! 

And must thy lyre, so long divine, 

Degenerate into hands like mine ? 

'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, 
Though linked among a fettered race, 

To feel at least a patriot's shame. 
Even as I sing, sufiuse my face ; 

For what is left the poet here ? 

For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. 

Must w^e but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must we but blush ? — Om^ fathers bled. 
Earth ! render back from out thy breast 

A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the three hundred grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopylae ! 

What! silent still ? and silent all ? 

Ah no! — the voices of the dead 
Sound hke a distant torrent's fall, 

And answer, " Let one living head, 
But one, arise — we come, we come ! " 
'T is but the living who are dumb. 

In vain — ^in vain ; strike other chords ; 

Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 

And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! 
Hark ! rising to the ignoble call, 
How answers each bold Bacchanal! 

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet. 
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? 

Of two such lessons, why forget 
The nobler and the manlier one ? 

You have the letters Cadmus gave — 

Think ye he meant them for a slave ? 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

We will not think of themes like these 1 
It made Anacreon's song divine ; 

He served — but served Polycrate»<*- 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 



389 



A tyrant ; bnt our masters then 
Were still at least our countrymen. 

The tyrant of the Chersonese 

Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; 
That tyrant was Miltiades ! 

Oh that the present hour would lend 
Another despot of the kind ! 
Such chains as his were sure to bind. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, 
Exists the remnant of a line 

Such as the Doric mothers bore ; 
And there perhaps some seed is sown 
The Heracleidan blood might own. 

Trust not for freedom to the Franks — 
They have a king who buys and sells ; 

In native swords, and native ranks, 
The only hope of courage dwells ; 

But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, 

Would break your shield, however broad. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

Our virgins dance beneath the shade— 
I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 

But gazing on each glowing maid. 
My own the burning tear-drop laves, 
To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, 
Where nothing, save the waves and I, 

May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 
There, swan-like, let me sing and die. 

A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — 

Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 

Lord Byron. 



MAECO BOZZARIS. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent. 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power. 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring — 
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden bird. 



At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band — 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood, 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood, 

On old Platsea's day ; 
And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there, 
With arms to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far, as they. 



An hour passed on — the Turk awoke : 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke — ^to hear his sentries shriek, 

" To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the 
Greek!" 
He woke — to die midst flame, and smoke. 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud *, 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
" Strike — tiU the last armed foe expires ; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires ; 
God — and your native land ! " 



They fought — like brave men, long and well; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few survi^ang comrades saw 
His smile when rang their proud hurrah, 

xind the red field was won ; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose. 

Like flowers at set of sun. 



Come to the bridal chamber, death, 
Come to the mother's, when she feels, 

For the first time, her first-born's breath ; 
Conic when the blessed seals 

That close the pestilence are broke. 

And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 

Come in consumption's ghastly form, 

The earthquake-shock, the ocean-storm ; 

Come when the heart beats high and warm, 



590 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



TV itli banquet-song, and dance, and wine ; 
And tliou art terrible — tlie tear, 
rhe groan, the knell, tbe pall, the bier ; 
And all we know, or dream, or fear 

Of agonv, are thine. 



But to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word ; 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 
Come, when his task of fame is wrought— 
Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought — 

Come in her crowning hour— and then 
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light 
To him is welcome as the sight 

Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; 
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand 
Of brother in a foreign land ; 
Thy summons welcome as the cry 
That told the Indian isles were nigh 

To the world-seeking Genoese, 
When the land-wind, from woods of palm. 
And orange -groves, and fields of balm, 

Blew o'er the Haytian seas. 



Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 
She wore no funeral weeds for thee, 

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, 
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree. 
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, 

The heartless luxury of the tomb. 
But she remembers thee as one 
Long loved, and for a season gone. 
For thee her poet's lyre is w reathed, 
Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; 
For thee she rings the birth-day bells ; 
Of thee her babes' first lisping tells ; 
For thine her evening prayer is said 
At palace couch, and cottage bed ; 
Her soldier, closing with the foe, 
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 
His plighted maiden, when she fears 
For him, the joy of her young years. 
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears. 



And she, the mother of tliy boys, 
Though in her eye and faded cheek 
Is read the grief she will not speak, 

The memory of her buried joys — 
And even she who gave thee birth, 
Will, by her pilgrim-circled hearth. 

Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art freedom's now, and fame's — 
Oae of the few, the immortal names 

That were not born to die. 

Fitz-Geeenk Halleor 



THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. 

Who fears to speak of Kinety-eight ? 

Who blushes at the name ? 
When cowards mock the patriot's fate, 

Who hangs his head for shame ? 
He 's all a knave, or half a slave. 

Who slights his country thus ; 
But a true man, like you, man, 

Will fill your glass with us. 

We drink the memory of the brave, 

The faithful and the few — 
Some lie far off beyond the wave — 

Some sleep in Ireland, too ; 
All, all are gone — but stni lives on 

The fame of those who died — 
AH true men, like you, men, 

Remember them with pride. 

Some on the shores of distant lands 

Their weary hearts have laid, 
And by the stranger's heedless hands 

Their lonely graves were made ; 
But, though their clay be far away 

Beyond the Atlantic foam- - 
In true men, like you, men. 

Their spirit 's still at home. 

The dust of some is Irish earth ; 

Among their own they rest; 
And the same land that gave them birth 

Has caught them to her breast ; 
And we will pray that from their clay 

Full many a race may start 
Of true men, like you, men. 

To act as brave a part. 



i 



SONNETS. 



391 



They rose in dark and evil days 

To right their native land ; 
They kindled here a living blaze 

That nothing shall withstand. 
Alas I that might can vanquish right — 

They fell and passed away ; 
Rut true men, like yon, men, 

Arc plenty here to-day. 

llien here 's their memory — may it be 

For ns a guiding light, 
To cheer our strife for liberty, 

And teach us to unite. 
Through good and ill, be Ireland's still, 

Though sad as theirs your fate ; 
And true men, be you, men, 

Like those of Ninety-eight ! 

John Kells Ingram. 



AF ODE. 

What constitutes a state ? 
Not high raised battlement or labored mound. 

Thick wall or moated gate ; 
Not cities proud with spires and turrets 
crowned ; 

Not bays and broad-armed ports, 
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies 
ride; 

Not starred and spangled courts. 
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to 
pride. 

No : — men, high-minded men, 
With powers as far above dull brutes endued 

In forest, brake, or den. 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude — 

Men who their duties know, 
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare 
maintain. 

Prevent the long-aimed blow. 
And crush the tyrant while they rend the 
chain ; 

These constitute a state ; 
And sovereign law, that state's collected will, 

O'er thrones and globes elate. 
Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. 

Srait by her sacred frown. 
The fiend, dissension, like a vapor sinks ; 

And e'en the all-dazzling crown 
Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. 



Such was this heaven-loved isle. 
Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore ! 

No more shall freedom smile ? 
Shall Britons languish, and be men no more ? 

Since all must life resign, 
Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 

'T is folly to decline. 
And steal inglorious to the silent grave. 

Sir William Jones. 



SONNETS. 

LONDON, 1802. 

Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour ; 
England hath need of thee. She is a fen 
Of stagnant waters. Altar, sword, and pen. 
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 
Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; 
Oh, raise us up, return to us again, 
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power ! 
Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart ; 
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the 

sea; 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free. 
So didst thou travel on life's common way 
In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 



TO TOirSSAINT L'OUVERTTJEE. 

ToussAiNT, the most unhappy man of men! 
Whether the whisthng rustic tend his plough 
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now 
Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den — 
O miserable chieftain I where and when 
Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; dc 

thou 
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow. 
Though fallen thyself, never to rise again. 
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left be 

hind 
Powers that will work for thee — air, earth, 

and skies. 
There 's not a breathing of the common wind 
That will forget thee. Thou hast great allies • 
Thy friends are exultations, agonies, 
And love, and man's unconquerable mind. 

WiLUAM WOKDSWOETH. 



392 



POEMS OF AMBITION. 



O^ A BUST OF DANTE. 

See, from this counterfeit of him 
Whom Arno shall remember long, 
How stern of lineament, how grim, 
The father was of Tuscan song I 
There hut the burning sense of wrong. 
Perpetual care, and scorn, abide — 
Small friendship for the lordly throng. 
Distrust of all the world beside. 

Faithful if this wan image be, 

No dream his life was — but a fight ; 

Could any Beatrice see 

A lover in that anchorite ? 

To that cold Ghibeline's gloomy sight 

Who could have guessed the visions came 

Of beauty, veiled with heavenly light. 

In cu'cles of eternal flame ? 

The lips as Cumas's cavern close. 
The cheeks with fast and sorrow thin, 
The rigid front, almost morose, 
But for the patient hope within. 
Declare a life whose course hath been 
Unsullied still, thqugh still severe, 
Which, through the wavering days of sin, 
Kept itself icy-chaste and clear. 

Not wholly such his haggard look 
When wandering once, forlorn, he strayed. 
With no companion save his book, 
To Oorvo's hushed monastic shade ; 
Where, as the Benedictine laid 
His palm upon the pilgrim guest. 
The single boon for which he prayed 
The convent's charity was rest. 

Peace dwells not here — this rugged face 
Betrays no spirit of repose ; 
The sullen warrior sole we trace. 
The marble man of many woes. 
Such was his mien when first arose 
The thought of that strange tale divine- 
When hell he peopled with his foes, 
The scourge of many a guilty line. 

War to the last he waged with all 
The tyrant canker-worms of earth ; 
Baron and duke, in hold and hall, 
Cursed the dark hour that gave him birth; 



He used Rome's harlot for his mirth ; 
Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime ; 
But valiant souls of knightly worth 
Transmitted to the rolls of time. 

time ! whose verdicts mock our owii, 
The only righteous judge art thou ; 
That poor, old exile, sad and lone. 
Is Latium's other Virgil now. 
Before his name the nations bow ; 
His words are parcel of mankind, 
Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow. 
The marks have sunk of Dante's mind. 

Thomas William Pak80n& 



ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY 



Come then, tell me, sage divine. 

Is it an ofience to own 
That our bosoms e'er incline 

Toward immortal glory's throne ? 
For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure, 
Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure, 
So can fancy's dream rejoice, 
So conciliate reason's choice. 
As one approving word of her impartial voice 

If to spurn at noble praise 

Be the passport to thy heaven. 

Follow thou those gloomy ways — 

No such law to me was given ; 

Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me, 

Faring like my friends before me ; 

Nor an holier place desire 

Than Timoleon's arms acquire. 

And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden 

lyre. 

Mark Aeensidb. 



J 



EXCELSIOR. 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device - 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath 
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath; 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue — 
Excelsior I 



EXCELSIOR. 



895 



In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright : 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan — 
Excelsior ! 

"Try not the pass," the old man said : 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " 
And loud that clarion voice replied. 
Excelsior ! 

'* Oh stay," the maiden said, " and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
Beware the awful avaLonohe 1 " 



This was the peasant's last good-night: 
A voice replied, far up the height, 



Excelsior I 



At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried, through the startled air, 
Excelsior! 

A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky, serene and fai*, 
A voice feU, like a falling star — 
Excelsior 1 

Henry Wadswoetii Loxgfellow. 



PART yi. 

POEMS OP COMEDY 



On ! never wear a brow of care, or frown with rueful gravity, 

For wit 's the child of wisdom, and good humor is the tv/ic ; 
No need to play the Pharisee, or groan at man's depravity, 

Let one man be a good man, and let all be fair within. 
Speak sober truths with smiling lips; the bitter wrap in sweetness — 

Sound sense in seeming nonsense, as the grain is hid in chaff; 
And fear not that the lesson e'er may seem to lack completeness — 

A man may say a wise thing, though he say it with a laugh. 

" A soft word oft turns wrath aside," (so says the great instructor, 

A smile disarms resentment, and a jest drives gloom away ; 
A cheerful laugh to anger is a magical conductor, 

The deadly flash averting, quickly changing night to day. 
Then, is not he the wisest man who rids his brow of wrinkles, 

Who bears his load with merry heart, and lightens it by half— 
Whose pleasant tones ring in the ear, as mirthful music tinkles. 

And wbose words are true and telling, though they echo in a laugh V 

So temper life's work — weariness with timely relaxation ; 

Most witless wight of all is he who never plays the fool ; 
The heart grows gray before the head, when sunk in sad prostration ; 

Its winter knows no Christmas, with its glowing log of Yule. 
Why weep, faint-hearted and forlorn, when evil comes to try us ? 

The fount of hope wells ever nigh — 'twill cheer us if we quaU*; 
Aiid, when the gloomy phantom of despondency stands by us, 

Let us, in calm defiance, exorcise it with a laugh 1 

AWONYMOITU. 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



THE HEIR OF LTN">TE. 

PAET FIRST. 

LiTiJE and listen, gentlemen ; 

To sing a song I will begin : 
It is of a lord of fair Scotland, 

Which was the unthrifty heir of Linne. 

His father was a right good lord, 
His mother a lady of high degree ; 

But they, alas ! were dead him fro, 
And he loved keeping company. 

To spend the day with merry cheer, 
To drink and revel every night, 

To card and dice from even to morn, 
It was, I ween, his heart's delight. 

To ride, to run, to rant, to roar. 
To always spend and never spare, 

I wot, an he were the king himself, 
Of gold and fee he might be bare. 

So fares the unthrifty heir of Linne, 
Till all his gold is gone and spent ; 

And he maun sell his lands so broad. 
His house, and lands, and all his rent. 

His father had a keen steward. 
And John o' Scales was called he ; 

But John is become a gentleman. 
And John has got both gold and fee. 

Says, *' Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne; 

Let nought disturb thy heavy cheer ; 
If thou wilt sell thy lands so broad. 

Good store of gold I '11 give thee here." 



*'My gold is gone, my money is spent> 
My land now take it unto thee : 

Give me the gold, good John o' Scales, 
And thine for aye my land shall be." 

Then John he did him to record draw, 
And John he gave him a god's-penny ; 

But for every pound that John agreed. 
The land, I wis, was well worth three. 

He told him the gold upon the board ; 

He was right glad the land to win : 
" The land is mine, the gold is thine, 

And now I '11 be the lord of Linne." 

Thus he hath sold his land so broad ; 

Both hill and holt, and moor and fen, 
All but a poor and lonesome lodge. 

That stood far off in a lonely glen. 

For so he to his father hight : 

" My son, when I am gone," said he, 

" Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad, 
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free ; 

" But swear me now upon the rood. 
That lonesome lodge thou 'It never spend; 

For when all the world doth frown on thee, 
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.'' 

The heir of Linne is full of gold ; 

And, " Come with me, my friends," said he : 
•'Let's drink, and rant, and merry make, 

And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee." 



398 



POEMS OF COMEPY. 



They ranted, drank, and merry made, 

Till all his gold it waxed thin ; 
And then his friends they slunk away ; 

They left the unthrifty heir of Linne. 

Ee had never a penny left in his purse, 

Xever a penny left but three ; 
The one was brass, the other was lead, 

And t' other it was white money. 

'i^ow well-a-way! " said the heir of Linne, 

" I^ow well-a-way, and woe is me ! 
For when I was the lord of Linne, 
I never wanted gold nor fee. 

" But many a trusty friend have I, 
And why should I feel dole or care ? 

I '11 borrow of them all by rurns. 
So need I not be ever bare." 

But one, I wis, was not at home ; 

Another had paid his gold away ; 
Another called him thriftless loon. 

And sharply bade him wend his way 

^ow well-a-way ! " said the heir of Linne, 
" Xow well-a-way, and woe is me ! 
For when I had my land so broad. 
On me they lived right merrily. 

" To beg my bread from door to door, 
I wis, it were a burning shame : 

To rob and steal it were a sin : 
To work my limbs I cannot frame. 

*'Xow I'll away to the lonesome lodge. 
For there my father bade me wend : 

When all the world should frown on me. 
I there should find a trusty friend." 

PAET SECOND. 

Away then hied the heir of Linne, 
O'er hill and holt, and moor and fen. 

Until he came to the lonesome lodge. 
That stood so low in a lonely glen. 

Ee looked up, he looked down. 
In hope some comfort for to win ; 

But bare and lothely were the walls : 
" Eere 's sorry cheer ! " c|.uoth the heir of 
Linne. 



The little window, dim and dark, 
"Was hung with ivy, brier, and yew ; 

Xo shimmering sun here ever shone ; 
Iso halesome breeze here ever blew. 

jSTo chair, no table, he mote spy, 

Xo cheerful hearth, no welcome bed, 

bought save a rope with a running noose, 
That dangling hung up o'er his head. 

And over it, in broad letters, 

These words were written, so plain to see • 
" Ah! graceless wretch, hath spent t)iy all, 

And brought thyself to penury? 

" All this my boding mind misgave, 
I therefore left this trusty friend : 

;N'ow let it shield thy foul disgrace, 
And all thy shame and sorrows end " 

Sorely vexed with this rebuke, 
Sorely vexed was the heir of Linne; 

Bis heart, I wis, was near to burst, 
With guilt and sorrow, shame and siiu 

Iis'ever a word spake the heir of Linne, 
ISTever a word he spake but three : 

" This is a trusty friend indeed, 
And is right welcome unto me." 

Then round his neck the cord he drew, 
And sprung aloft with his body ; 

When lo ! the ceiling burst in twain, 
And to the ground came tumbling he. 

Astonished lay the heir of Linne, 
Xor knew if he were live or dead ; 

At length he looked and saw a bill. 
And in it a key of gold so red. 

Ee took the bill and looked it on ; 

Straight good comfort found he there: 
It told him of a hole in the wall 

In which there stood three chests in-fere. 

Two were full of the beaten gold ; 

The third was full of white money 
And over them, in broad letters. 

These words were written so plain to sec 



THE HEIR OF LINNE. 



399 



•* Once more, my son, I set thee clear ; 

Amend thy life and follies past; 
For, but thou amend thee of thy life, 

That rope must be thy end at last." 

** And let it be," said the heir of Linne 

" And let it be, but if I amend : 
For here I will make mine avow, 

This reade shall guide me to the end." 

Away then went the heir of Linne, 
Away he went with merry cheer; 

I wis he neither stint nor stayed, 
Till John o' the Scales' house he came near. 

And when he came to John o' the Scales, 
Up at the spere then looked he ; 

There sat three lords at the board's end, 
Were drinking of the wine so free. 

Then up bespoke the heir of Linne ; 

To John o' the Scales then could he : 
" I pray thee now, good John o' the Scales, 

One forty pence for to lend me." 

**Away, away, thou thriftless loon! 

Away, away ! this may not be : 
For a curse be on my head," he said, 

" If ever I lend thee one penny." 

Then bespoke the heir of Linne, 

To John o' the Scales' wife then spake he : 
" Madam, some alms on me bestow, 

I pray, for sweet Saint Charity." 

*' Away, away, thou thriftless loon I 
I swear thou gettest no alms of me ; 

For if we should hang any losel here. 
The first we would begin with thee." 

Then up bespoke a good fellow 

Which sat at John o' the Scales his board : 
Said, " Turn again, thou heir of Linne ; 

Some time thou was a well good lord : 

'* Some time a good fellow thou hast been. 
And sparedst not thy gold and fee ; 

Therefore I '11 lend thee forty pence, 
And other forty if need be. 



" And ever I pray thee, John o' the Scales, 

To let him sit in thy company ; 
For well I wot thou hadst his land, 

And a good bargain it was to thee." 

Then np bespoke him John o' the Scales, 
AU woode he answered him again : 

"Nov/ a curse be on my head," he said, 
" But I did lose by that bargain. 

" And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne, 
Before these lords so fair and free, 

Thou shalt have 't back again better cheap. 
By a hundred merks, than I had it of thee.' 

"I draw you to record, lords," he said; 

With that he gave him a god's-penny : 
"]N"ow, by my fay," said the heir of Linne, 

"And here, good John, is thy money." 

And he pulled forth the bags of gold. 
And laid them down upon the board ; 

All wo-begone was John o' the Scales, 
So vexed he could say never a word. 

He told him forth the good red gold. 
He told it forth with mickle din ; 

" The gold is thine, the land is mine. 
And now I 'm again the lord of Linne ! " 

Says, " Have thou here, thou good fellow ; 

Forty pence thou didst lend me ; 
Now I 'm again the lord of Linne, 

And forty pounds I will give thee." 

" Now well-a-way ! " quoth Joan o' the Scaler, 
" Now well-a-way, and wo is my Hfe ! 

Yesterday I was lady of Linne, 

Now I 'm but John o' the Scales his wife." 

'* Now fare-lhee-wcll," said the heir of Linne, 
"Farewell, good John o' the Scales," said 
he; 

^ When next I want to jell my land, 
Good John o' the Scales, I '11 come to thee." 



3U0 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



THE DKAGOIsr OF WANTLEY. 

Old stories tell how Hercules 

A dragon slew at Lerna, 
With seven heads and fourteen eyes, 

To see and well discem-a ; 
But he had a club this dragon to drub, 

Or he ne'er had done it, I warrant ye ; 
But More, of More-hall, with nothing at all. 

He slew the dragon of Wantlej. 

This dragon had two furious wings, 

Each one upon each shoulder ; 
With a sting in his tail as long as a flail, 

Which made him bolder and bolder. 
He had long claws, and in Ms jaws 

Four and forty teeth of iron ; 
With a hide as tough as any buff, 

Which did him round environ. 

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse 

Held seventy men in his belly ? 
This dragon was not quite so big. 

But very near, I '11 tell ye ; 
Devoured he poor children three, 

That could not with him grapple ; 
And at one sup he ate them up, 

As one would eat an apple. 

All sorts of cattle this dragon would eat, 

Some say he ate up trees. 
And that the forests sure he would 

Devour up by degrees ; 
For houses and churches were to him geese 
and turkeys ; 

He ate all and left none behind. 
But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not 
crack. 

Which on the hills you will find. 

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt ; 

Men, women, girls, and boys. 
Sighing and soboing, came to his lodging. 

And made a hideous noise. 
Oh, save us all, More of More-hall, 

Thou peerless knight of these woods ; 
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us 
a rag on. 

We '11 give thee all our goods. 



This being done, he did engage 

To hew the dragon down ; 
But first he went new armor to 

Bespeak at Sheffield town ; 
With spikes all about, not within but without, 

Of steel so sharp and strong. 
Both behind and before, legs, arms, and all 
o'er. 

Some five or six inches long. 



Had you but seen him in this dress, 

How fierce he looked, and how big. 
You would have thought him for to be 

Some Egyptian porcupig : 
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all. 

Each cow, each horse, and each hog ; 
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be 

Some strange, outlandish hedge-hog. 



To see this fight all people then 

Got up on trees and houses. 
On churches some, and chimneys too ; 

But these put on their trousers, 
l^ot to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose, 

To make him strong and mighty. 
He drank, by the tale, six pots of ale, 

And a quart of aqua-vitae. 



It is not strength that always wins. 

For wit doth strength excel ; 
Which made our cunning champion 

Creep down into a well, 
Where he did think this dragon would drink, 

And so he did in truth ; 
And as he stooped low, he rose up and cried, 
boh! 

And kicked him in the mouth. 



Oh ! quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh. 

And turned six times together, 
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing 

Out of his throat of leather. 
More of More-hall, oh thou rascal ! 

Would I had seen thee never ! 
With the thing at thy foot thou hast pricked 
my throat, 

And I'm quite undone forever! 



1 



GOOD ALE. 



401 



Murder, murder ! the dragon cried, 

Alack, alack, for grief! 
I Tad you but missed that place, you could 

Have done me no mischief. 
Then his head he shaked, trembled, and 
quaked, 

And down he lay and cried ; 
First on one knee, then on back tumbled he. 

So groaned, and kicked, and died. 

Old Ballad. (English.) 

Version of Coventry Patmoke. 



GOOD ALE. 

I CANNOT eat but little meat — 

My stomach is not good ; 
But sure, I think that I can drink 

With him that wears a hood. 
Though I go bare, take ye no care ; 

I am nothing a-cold — 
T stuff my skin so full within 

Of jolly good ale and old. 
Back and side go lare^ go Mre ; 

Both foot and liand go cold ; 
But, belli/, God send thee good ale 
enough, 

Whether it le new or old ! 



I love no roast but a nut-brown toast, 

And a crab laid in the fire ; 
A little bread shall do me stead — 

Much bread I not desire. 
No frost nor snow, nor wind, I trow. 

Can hurt me if I wold — 
I am so wrapt, and thorowly lapt 

Of jolly good ale and old. 
BacTc and side go bare, go bare ; 

Both foot and hand go cold; 
But, belly, God send thee good ale 
enough, 

Whether it be new or old ! 



Anc Tyb, my wife, that as her life 
Loveth well good ale to seek, 

Full oft drir.ks she, till you may see 
Tlie tears iiin down her cheek ; 
55 



Then doth she trowl to me the bowl. 

Even as a malt-worm should ; 
And saith, '' Sweetheart, I took my par* 

Of this jolly good ale and old." 
Baclc and side go bare, go bare; 

Both foot and hand go cold ; 
But, belly, God send thee good ah 
enough, 

Whether it be new or old ! 



Now let them drink till they nod and 
wink. 
Even as good fellows should do ; 
They shall not miss to have the bliss 

Good ale doth bring men to ; 
And all poor souls that have scoured 
bowls. 
Or have them lustily trowled, 
God save the lives of them and their 
wives. 
Whether they be young or old ! 
Baclc and side go bare, go bare ; 
Both foot and hand go cold; 
But, belly, God send thee good alt 
enough. 
Whether it be new or old ! 

John Still. 



THE JOVIAL BEGGAR. 

There was a jovial beggar, 

He had a wooden leg. 
Lame from his cradle, 
And forced for to beg. 

And a-begging we will gOy 

Will go, icill go, 
And a-begging we will go. 



A bag for his oatmeal, 
Another for his salt. 
And a long pair of crutches, 
To show that he can halt. 

And a-begging we will go^ 

Will go, will go, 
And a-begging we to ill g<i. 



102 



POEMS OF COMEDV. 



A bag for liis wlieat. 

Alio titer for his rye, 
And a little bottle by his side, 
To drink when he 's a-dry. 
And a-hegging we icill go^ 

Will go^ will go^ 
And a-legging we will go. 

Seven yoars I begged 

For my old master Wilde, 
He taught me how to beg 
"When I was but a child. 

And a-degging we will go^ 

Will go^ will go^ 
And a "begging ice will go, 

1 begged for my master, 

And got him store of pelf, 
But goodness now be praised, 
I 'm begging for myself. 

And a-begging we will go^ 

Will go, will go, 
And a-begging toe will go. 

In a hollow tree 

I live, and pay no rent. 

Providence provides for me, 

And I am well content. 

And a-begging we will go, 

Will go, will go, 
And a-begging we will go. 

Ot all the occupations 

A beggar's is the best. 
For whenever he 's a-weary, 
He can lay him down to rest. 
And a-begging we will go. 

Will go, will go, 
And a-begging we will go, 

I fear no plots against me, 

I live in open cell ; 
Tlien who would be a king, lads, 
Wl;,en the beggar lives so well? 
And a-begging we will go. 

Will go, will go, 
And a-begging we will go. 

Ajnontmous. 



TAKE THY OLD CLOAKE ABOUT 
THEE. 

Tms winter weather — it waxeth cold, 

And frost doth freese on every hill ; 
And Boreas blows his blastes so cold 

That all ur cattell are like to spill. 
Bell, my wife, who loves no strife, 

Shee sayd unto me quietlye. 
Else up, and save cowe Crumbocke's hfe — 

Man, put thy old cloake about thee. 

HE. 

Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorne ? 
Thou kenst my cloake is very thin 

It is so bare and overworne 

A cricke he thereon can not renn. 

Then He no longer borrowe or lend 
For once He new apparelled be ; 

To morrow He to towne, and spend, 
For He have a new cloake about mo. 

SHE. 

Cow Crumbocke is a very good cow — 
She has been alwayes true to the payle; 

She has helped us to butter and cheese, 
trow, 
And other things she will not fayle ; 

1 wold be loth to see her pine ; 

Good husbande, counsel take of me — 
It is not for us to go so fine ; 
Man, take thy old cloake about thee. 



My cloake, it was a very good cloake — 

It hath been alwayes true to the weare ; 
But now it is not worth a groat ; 

I have had it four and-forty yeare. 
Sometime it was of cloth in graine ; 

'Tis now but a sigh clout as you m^y see ; 
It will neither hold nor winde nor raine — 

And He have a new cloake about me. 



It is four-and-forty yeeres ago 

Since the one of us the other did ken ; 
And we have had betwixt us towe 

Of children either nine or ten ; 



I 



MALBROUCK. 



40b 



We have brought them up to women and 
men — 

In the fere of God I trowe they be ; 
And why wilt thou thyself misken — 

Man, take thy old cloake about thee. 



O Bell, my wife, why dost thou floute ? 

]N'ow is now, and then was then; 
Seeke now all the world throughout. 

Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen ; 
They are clad in blacke, green e, yellowe, or 

So far above their own degree — 
Once in my life He do as they. 
For He have a new cloake about me. 

SHE. 

King Stephen was a worthy peere — 

His breeches cost him but a crowne ; 
He held them sixpence all too deere, 

Therefore he called the tailor loon. 
He was a wight of high renowne, 

Ajid thou'se but of a low degree— 
It *s pride that puts this countrye downe ; 

Man, take thy old cloake about thee. 



Bell, my wife, she loves not strife, 

Yet she will lead me if she can ; 
And oft to live a quiet life 

I 'm forced to yield though I be good-man. 
It 's not for a man with a woman to threepe. 

Unless he first give o'er the plea; 
As we began sae will we leave. 

And He tak my old cloake about me. 

Anonymous. 



MALBROUCK. 

Malbkouok, the prince of commanders, 
Is gone to the war in Flanders; 
nia fame is like Alexander's ; 

But when will he come home? 

Perhaps at Trinity feast ; or 
Perhaps he may come at Easter. 
Egad ! he had better make haste, or 
We fear he may never come. 



For Trinity feast is over, 
And has brought no news from Dover : 
And Easter is past, moreover. 
And Malbronck still delays. 

^ Milady in her watch-tower 
Spends many a pensive hour, 
'Not knowing why or how her 

Dear lord from England stays. 

While sitting quite forlorn in 
That tower, she spies returning 
A page clad in deep mourning, 
With fainting steps and slow. 

" page, pry thee, come faster ! 

What news do you bring of your master? 

I fear there is some disaster — 

Your looks are so full of woe." 

" The news I bring, fair lady," 
With sorrowful accent said he, 
"Is one you are not ready 
So soon, alas ! to hear. 

"But since to speak I'm hurried," 
Added this page quite flurried, 
"Malbrouck is dead and buried ! " 
— And here he shed a tear. 

" He 's dead ! he 's dead as a herring I 
For I beheld his herring. 
And four oflScers transferring 

His corpse away from the field. 

" One officer carried his sabre ; 
And he carried it not without labor, 
Much envying his next neighbor. 
Who only bore a shield. 

" The third was helmet-bearer — 
That helmet which on its wearer 
Filled all who saw with terror, 
And covered a hero's brains. 

" ISTow, having got so i\xr, I 

Find, that — by the Lord Harry ! — 

The fourth is left nothing to carry ; — 

So there the thing remains." 

AxoNYMoufl. (Fieiidi,,' 
Ti'anskition of Father Pbout. 



i04 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



THE OLD AISTD YOUNG COURTIER. 

An old song made by an aged old pate, 

Of an old worshipful gentleman wlio had a 

great estate, 
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful 

rate, 
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his 



Lilce an old courtier of the queen's^ 
And tlie queeri's old courtier. 

With an old lady, whose anger one word as- 
suages ; 

They every quarter paid their old servants 
their wages, 

And never knew what belonged to coachmen, 
footmen, nor pages. 

But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats 
and badges ; 
LiTce an old courtier of tlie queen's,^ 
And the queen'' s old courtier. 

With an old study filled full of learned old 

books ; 
With an old reverend chaplain — you might 

know him by his looks ; 
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the 

hooks ; 
And an old kitchen that maintained half a 

dozen old cooks ; 
Lilce an old courtier of tlie queen'' s^ 
And the queen'' s old courtier. 

v\^ith an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, 
and bows, 

With old swords and bucklers, that had borne 
many shrewd blows ; 

And an old frieze coat, to cover his worship's 
trunk hose. 

And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his cop- 
per nose ; 

Lilce an old courtier of the queen's^ 
And the queen's old courtier. 

With a good old fashion, when Christmas was 

come. 
To call in all his old neighbors with bagpipe 

and drum ; 



With good cheer enough to furnish every old 

room, 
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and 
man dumb ; 

Lilce an old courtier of the queen's^ 
And the queen'' s old courtier. 

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel 

of hounds, 
That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his 

own grounds ; 
Who, like a wise man, kept himself within 

his own bounds. 
And when he dyed, gave every child a thou 

sand good pounds ; 

Lihe an old courtier of the queen'' s^ 
And the queen's old courtier. 

But to his eldest son his house and land he 

assigned. 
Charging him in his will to keep the old 

bountiful mind — 
To be good to his old tenants, and to hie 

neighbors be kind : 
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how 

he was inclined, 
Lilce a young courtier of the hing^s^ 
And the hinges young courtier. 

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come 
to his land, 

Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his 
command ; _ 

And takes up a thousand pound upon his fa- I 
ther's land ; 

And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can nei- 
ther go nor stand ; 
Lilce a young courtier of the Icing'' s^ 
And the lcing''s young courtier. 

With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, 

and spare, I 

Who never knew what belonged to good • 

housekeeping or care ; 
Who buys gaudy-colored fans to play with 

wanton air, 
And seven or eight different dressings of other 

women's hair ; 

Lilce a young courtier of the Mng''s^ 
And the Mngh young courtier. 



AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. 



405 



With a new-fasMoned hall, built where the 

old one stood, 
Hung round with new pictures, that do the 

poor no good ; 
With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns 

neither coal nor wood; 
lUid a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no 

victuals ne'er stood ; 

LiJse a young courtier of the Tcing^s^ 
And the Tcing''s young courtier. 

With a new study, stuft fell of pamphlets and 
plays ; 

And a new chaplain, that swears faster than 
he prays ; 

With a new buttery hatch, that opens once 
in four or five days. 

And a new French cook, to devise fine kick- 
shaws, and toys ; 

Lihe a young courtier of the Mng''s, 
And the Mng^s young courtier. 

With a new fashion when Christmas is draw- 
ing on — 

On a new journey to London straight we all 
must be gone, 

And leave none to keep house, but our new 
porter John, 

Who relieves the poor with a thump on the 
back with a stone ; 
Lilce a young courtier of the Icing'' s^ 
And the hinges young courtier. 



With a new gentleman usher, whose carriage 
is complete ; 

With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to 
carry up the meat ; 

With a waiting gentlewoman, whose dressing 
is very neat — 

Who, when her lady has dined, lets the ser- 
vants not eat ; 

Lihe a young courtier of the Icing'' s^ 
And the Mng^s young courtier 



With new titles of honor bought with his 

father's old gold. 
For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors 

are sold : 



And this is the course most of our new gal- 
lants hold. 
Which makes that good housekeeping is now 
grown so cold 

Among the young courtiers of the Tcing 
Or the Tcing''s young courtiers. 

Anonymous. 



AN ELEGY OX THE DEATH OF A 
MAD DOG. 

Good people all, of every sort. 

Give ear unto my song ; 
And if you find it wond'rous shoi-t 

It cannot hold you long. 

In Islington there was a man, 
Of whom the world might say 

That still a godly race he ran 
Whene'er he went to pray. 

A kind and gentle heart he had, 

To comfort friends and foes ; 
The naked every day he clad. 

When he put on his clothes. 

And in that town a dog was found, 

As many dogs there be, 
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 

And curs of low degree. 

This dog and man at first were friends ; 

But when a pique began, 
The dog, to gain his private ends. 

Went mad, and bit the man. 

Around from all the neighboring streets 
The wandering neighbors ran. 

And swore the dog had lost his wits, 
To bite so good a man. 

The wound it seemed both sore and sad 

To every Christian eye : 
And while they swore the dog ^\ as mad 

They swore the man would die. 

But soon a wonder came to light, 
That showed the rogues they lied : 

The man recovered of the bite. 
The dog it was that died. 

Olivkb Goldsmith. 



406 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



THE RAPE OF THE LOOK. 

AN HEEOI-OOMICAL POEM. 

Nolueram, BeliDda, tuos yiolare capillos; 
Sedjuvat hoc precibus me trituisse tuis. — Mast. 



^Yhat dire offence from amorous causes 

springs, 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things, 
[ sing — This verse to Caryl, muse ! is due ; 
This, e'en Belinda may vouchsafe to view : 
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, 
If she inspire, and he approve my lays. 
Say what strange motive, goddess! could 

compel 
A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle ? 
Ob, say what stranger cause, yet unexplored, 
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord ? 
In tasks so bold can little men engage. 
And in soft bosoms dwell such mighty rage ? 
Sol through white curtains shot a timorous 

i-ay, 
\nd ope'd those eyes that must eclipse the 

day. 
iSTow lap-dogs give themselves the rousing 

shake, 
And sleepless lovers just at twelve awake ; 
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked the 

ground, 
And the pressed watch returned a silver 

sound. 
Belinda still her downy pillow prest — 
tier guardian sylph prolonged the balmy rest ; 
'T was he had summoned to her silent bed 
The morning-dream that hovered o'er her 

head : 
A youth more glittering than a birthnight 

beau, 
(That e'en in slumber caused her cheek to 

glow,) 
Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay. 
And thus in whispers said, or seemed to say : 
" Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished care 
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air ! 
If e'er one vision touched thy infant thought 
Of all the nurse and all the priest have 

taught, 
Of airy elves by moonlight-shadows seen, 
The silver token, and the circled green; 



Or virgins visited by angel powers 

With golden crowns and wreaths of heavenl} 

flowers — 
Hear and believe ! thy own importance 

know, 
Nor bound thy narrow views to things below 
Some secret truths, from learned pride con 

cealed, 
To maids alone and children are revealed; 
What though no credit doubting wits may 

give? 
The fair and innocent shall still believe. 
Know, then, unnumbered spirits round thee 

fly- 

The light militia of the lower sky ; 
These, though unseen, are ever on the wing 
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the ring. 
Think what an equipage thou hast in air. 
And view with scorn two pages and a chair. 
As now your own, our beings were of old, 
And once enclosed in woman's beauteous 

mould ; 
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair 
From earthly vehicles to these of air. 
Think not, when woman's transient breatii h 

fled, 
That all her vanities at once are dead ; 
Succeeding vanities she stiU regards, 
And, though she plays no more, o'erlooks the 

cards. 
Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive, 
And love of ombre, after death survive ; 
For when the fair in all their pride expire, 
To their first elements their souls retire; 
The sprites of fiery termagant in flame 
Mount up, and take a salamander's name ; 
Soft yielding minds to water glide away, 
And sip, with nymphs, their elemental tea; 
The graver prude sinks downward to a 

gnome 
In search of mischief still on earth to roam ; 
The light coquettes in sylphs aloft repair. 
And sport and flutter in the fields of air. 
"Know further yet; whoever fair and 

chaste 
Eejects mankind, is by some sylph embraced ; 
For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with eas( 
Assume what sexes and what shapes the> 

please. 
What guards the purity of melting maidh 
In courtlv balls and midnight masquerades, 



J 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



40', 



Safe from the treacherous friend, tlie daring 

spark, 
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark — 
When kind occasion prompts their warm de- 
sires, 
When music softens, and when dancing fires ? 
'T is but their sylph, the wise celestials know, 
Tliough honor is the word with men below. 
" Some nymphs there are, too conscious of 
their face. 
For life predestined to the gnome's embrace ; 
These swell their prospects and exalt their 

pride. 
When offers are disdained, and love denied; 
Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain, 
While peers, and dukes, and all their sweep- 
ing train, 
And garters, stars, and coronets appear, 
And in soft sounds, 'Your grace,' salutes 

their ear. 
'T is these that early taint the female soul, 
Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll ; 
Teach infant cheeks a bidden blush to know, 
And little hearts to flutter at a beau. 
** Oft when the world imagine women 
stra}'. 
The sylphs through mystic mazes guide their 

way; 
Through all the giddy circle they pursue, 
And old impertinence expel by new. 
What tender maid but must a victim fall 
To one man's treat, but for another's ball ? 
When Florio speaks, what virgin could with- 
stand. 
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand ? 
With varying vanities from every part 
They shift the moving toy-shop of their heart ; 
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots 

sword-knots strive, 
Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches 

drive. 
This erring mortals levity may call — 
Oh, blind to truth ! the sylphs contrive it all. 
*' Of these am I, who thy protection claim ; 
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. 
Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air. 
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star, 
r saw, alas ! some dread event impend. 
Ere to the main this morning's sun descend ; 
'^ut heaven reveals not what, or how, or 
where : 



Warned by the sylph, pious maid, beware 
This to disclose is all thy guardian can ; 
Beware of all, but most beware of man ! " 
He said ; when Shock, who thought sht 

slept too long. 
Leaped up, and waked his mistress with hi? 

tongue. 
'T was then, Belinda, if report say true. 
Thy eyes first opened on a billet-doux ; 
Wounds, charms, and ardors, were no soonrr 

read, 
But all the vision vanished from thy head. 
And now, unveiled, the toilet stands dis- 
played. 
Each silver vase -in mystic order laid. 
First, robed in white, the nymph intent 

adores. 
With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers. 
A heavenly image in the glass appears — 
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; 
Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side. 
Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. 
Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here 
The various offerings of the world appear ; 
From each she nicely culls with curious toil, 
And decks the goddess with the glittering 

spoil. 
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks. 
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. 
The tortoise here, and elephant unite, 
Transformed to combs — the speckled, and the 

white. 
Here files of pins extend their shining rows ; 
Puffs, pow^ders, patches, bibles, billet-doux. 
ISTow awful beauty puts on all its arms ; 
The fair each moment rises in her charms, 
Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, 
And calls forth all the w^onders of her face ; 
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, 
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. 
The busy sylphs surround their darling care, 
These set the head, and these divide the hair; 
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait tht' 

gown ; 
And Betty 's praised for labors not her own. 



CANTO II. 



Not with more glories, in the ethereal plain^ 
The sun first rises o'er the purpled main, 
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams 
Launched on the bosom of the silver Thamea 



408 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Fair nymphs and well-dressed youths around 
her shone, 

But every eye was fixed on her alone. 

On her white breast a sparkling cross she 
wore, 

Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore ; 

Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose — 

Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those ; 

Favors to none, to all she smiles extends ; 

Oft she rejects, but never once oflends. 

Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike ; 

And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. 

Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of 
pride. 

Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to 
hide : 

[f to her share some female errors fall. 

Look on her face, and you '11 forget them all. 
This nymph, to the destruction of man- 
kind, 

ISTourished two locks, which graceful hung 
behind 

En equal curls, and well conspired to deck 

With shining ringlets the smooth, ivory neck. 

Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, 

And mighty hearts are held in slender 
chains. 

With hairy springes we the birds betray ; 

Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey ; 

Fair tresses man's imperial race insnare, 

And beauty draws us with a single hair. 
Th' adventurous baron the bright locks 
admired ; 

Re saw, he wished, and to the prize aspired. 

Resolved to win, he meditates the way. 

By force to ravish, or by fraud betray ; 

For when success a lover's toil attends, 

Few ask if fraud or force attained his ends. 
For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had im- 
plored 

Propitious heaven, and every power adored ; 

But chiefly love — to love an altar built, 

Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. 

There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves. 

And all the trophies of his former loves ; 

With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre, 

And breathes three amorous sighs to raise 
the fire. 

Iheri prostrate falls, and begs with ardent 
eyes 

Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize. 



The powers gave ear, and granted half his 
i prayer ; 

i The rest the winds dispersed in empty air. 
; But now secure the painted vessel glides, 
1 The sunbeams trembling on the floating tidec ; 
i While melting music steals upon the sky, 
I And softened sounds along the waters die : 
Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gentlj 

play, 
Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay. 
All but the sylph — with careful thoughts op- 

prest, 
Th' impending woe sat heavy on his breast. 
He summons straight his denizens of air ; 
The lucid squadrons round the sails repair; 
Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, 
That seemed but zephyrs to the train be- 
neath. 
Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold. 
Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold, 
Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight, 
Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light ; 
Loose to the wind their airy garments flew — ■ 
Thin, glittering textures of the filmy dew. 
Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies, 
Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes ; 
While every beam new transient colors 

flings, 
Colors that change whene'er they wave 

their wings. 
Amid the circle, on the gilded mast, 
j Superior by the head, was Ariel placed; • . .^ 
j His purple pinions opening to the sun, ^^m 

He raised his azure wand, and thus begun : 
"Ye sylphs and sylphids, to your chief 
give ear ! 
Fays, fairies, genii, elves, and demons, hear I 
Ye know the spheres and various tasks as- 
signed 
By laws eternal to the aerial kind : 
Some in the fields of purest ether play. 
And bask and whiten in the blaze of day; 
Some guide the course of wandering orbs on 

high, 
Or roll the planets through the boundless 

sky ; 
Some, less refined, beneath the moon's pale 

light 
Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night. 
Or suck the mists in grosser air below, 
Or dip their pinions in the painted bow, 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



409 



Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main, 
Or o'er the glebe distill the kindly rain ; 
Others, on earth, o'er human race preside, 
Watch all their ways, and all their actions 

guide : 
Of these the chief the care of nations own, 
And guard with arms divine the British 
throne. 
'' Our humbler province is to tend the fair, 
ISTot a less pleasing, though less glorious care ; 
To save the powder from too rude a gale, 
Nor let th' imprisoned essences exhale ; 
To draw fresh colors from the vernal flow- 
ers; 
To steal from rainbows, ere they drop in 

showers, 
A brighter wash ; to curl their waving hairs. 
Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs ; 
!N'ay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow, 
To change a flounce, or add a furbelow. 
" This day black omens threat the bright- 
est fair 
That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care ; 
Some dire disaster, or by force or slight ; 
But what, or where, the fates have wrapped 

in night — 
Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law. 
Or some frail china jar receive a flaw ; 
Or stain her honor, or her new brocade ; 
Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade ; 
Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball ; 
Or whether heaven has doomed that Shock 

must fall — 
Haste, then, ye spirits! to your charge re- 
pair : 
The fluttering fan be Zephyretta's care ; 
The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign ; 
And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine ; 
Do thou, Orispissa, tend her favorite lock ; 
Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock. 
" To fifty chosen sylphs, of special note. 
We trust the important charge, the petti- 
coat — 
Oft have we known that seven-fold fence to 

fail, 
Thoiigl:. stiff with hoops, and armed with rit s 

of whale — 
Form a strong line about the silver bound, 
And guard the wide circumference around. 
"Whatever spirit, careless of his charge. 
His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large, 



Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his 

sins, 
Be stopped in vials, or transfixed with pins 
Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie, 
Or wedged whole ages in a bodkin's eye ; 
Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain, 
While clogged he beats his silken wings in 

vain ; 
Or alum styptics with contracting power 
Shrink his thin essence like a rivaled flower ; 
Or, as Ixion fixed, the wretch shall feel 
The giddy motion of the whirling mill ; 
In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow. 
And tremble at the sea that froths below ! " 
He spoke; the spirits from the sails de- 
scend ; 
Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend; 
Some thread the mazy ringlets of her hair ; 
Some hang upon the pendants of her ear ; 
With beating hearts the dire event they wait, 
Anxious, and trembhng for the birth of fate. 

OANTO III. 

Close by those meads, for ever crowned with 

flowers, 
W^here Thames with pride surveys his risiup 

towers, 
There stands a structure of majestic frame, 
Which from the neighboring Hampton takcL' 

its name. 
Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom 
Of foreign tyrants, and of nymphs at home ; 
Here, thou, great Anna ! whom three realms 

obey. 
Dost sometimes counsel take — and sometimes 

tea. 
Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort, 
To taste awhile the pleasures of a court ; 
In various talk the instructive hours they past: 
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last ; 
One speaks the glory of the British queen ; 
And one describes a charming Indian screen* 
A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes- 
At every word a reputation dies ; 
Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat, 
AYith singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. 
Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day 
The sun obliquely slioots his burning ray ; 
The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, 
And wretches hang that jurymen may dinej 



410 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



The merchant from the Exchange returns in 

peace, 
And the long labors of the toilet cease. 
Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites. 
Burns to encounter two adventurous knights 
At ombre singly to decide their doom. 
And swells her breast with conquests yet to 

come. 
Straight the three bands prepare in arms to 

join, 
Each band the number of the sacred nine. 
Soon as she spreads her hand, the aerial guard 
Descend, and sit on each important card : 
First Ariel perched upon a matadore. 
Then each according to the rank they bore ; 
For sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race, 
Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place. 

Behold ; four kings in majesty revered, 
With hoary whiskers and a forky beard ; 
And four fair queens, whose hands sustain a 

flower. 
The expressive emblem of their softer power ; 
Four knaves, in garbs succinct, a trusty band. 
Caps on their heads, and halberts in their 

hand ; 
And parti-colored troops, a shining train, 
Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain. 
The skilful nymph reviews her force with 
care ; 
" Let spades be trumps ! " she said, and 
trumps they were. 
Kow move to war her sable matadores, 
In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors. 
Spadillio first, unconquerable lord ! 
Led off two captive trumps, and swept the 

board. 
As many more Manillio forced to yield. 
And marched a victor from the verdant field. 
Him Basto followed, but his fate more hard 
Gained but one trump and one plebeian card. 
With his broad sabre next, a chief in years. 
The hoary majesty of spades appears, 
Puts forth one manly leg, to sight revealed. 
The rest his many-colored robe concealed. 
The rebel knave, who dares his prince en- 
gage, 
Proves the just victim of his royal rage. 
E'en mighty Pam, that kings and queens over- 
threw. 
And mowed down armies in the fights of 
loo. 



Sad chance of war ! now destitute of aid, 
Falls undistinguished by the victor spade ! 

Thus far both armies to Belinda yield ; 
ISTow to the baron fate inclines the field. 
His warlike amazon her host invades, 
The imperial consort of the crown of spades. 
The club's black tyrant first her victim died, 
Spite of his haughty mien and barbaroii 

pride : 
What boots the regal circle on his head. 
His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread — 
That long behind he trails his pompous robe. 
And, of all monarchs, only grasps the globe ? 
The baron now his diamonds pours apace : 
The embroidered king who shows but half his 

face. 
And his refulgent queen, with powers com- , 

bined, 
Of broken troops an easy conquest find. 
Clubs, diamonds, hearts, in wild disorder 

seen, 
With throngs promiscuous strew the level 

green. 
Thus when dispersed a routed army runs, 
Of Asia's troops, and Afric's sable sons — 
With like confusion different nations fly, 
Of various habit, and of various dye ; 
The pierced battalions disunited fall 
In heaps on heaps — one fate o'erwh elms them 

all. 
The knave of diamonds tries his wily arts, 
And wins (oh, shameful chance !) the queen 

of hearts. 
At this the blood the virgin's cheek forsook, 
A livid paleness spreads o'er all her look; 
She sees, and trembles at the approaching iU, 
Just in the jaws of ruin, and codille. 
And now (as oft in some distempered state) 
On one nice trick depends the general fate : 
An ace of hearts steps forth ; the king unseen 
Lurked in her hand, and mourned his captive 

queen ; 
He springs to vengeance with an eager pace, 
And falls like thunder on the prostrate ace. 
The nymph, exulting, fills with shouts the 

sky; 
The walls, the woods, and long canals reply. 
thoughtless mortals ! ever blind to fato 
Too soon dejected, end too soon elate ! 
Sudden these honors shall be snatched away, 
And cursed for ever this victorioi^s day. 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



411 



For lo ! the board with cups and spoons is 
crowned ; 
The berries crackle, and the mill turns round ; 
On shining altars of japan they raise 
The silver lamp ; the fiery spirits blaze; 
From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide, 
While China's earth receives the smoking tide. 
At once they gratify their scent and taste. 
And frequent cups prolong the rich repast. 
Straight hover round the fair her airy band : 
Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor fanned ; 
Some o'er her lap their careful plumes dis- 
played, 
Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade. 
Coffee (which makes the politician wise, 
And see through all things with his half-shut 

eyes) 
Sent up in vapors to the baron's brain 
New stratagems,- the radiant lock to gain. 
Ah cease, rash youth ! desist ere 't is too late; 
Fear the just gods, and think of Scylla's fate ! 
Changed to a bird, and sent to flit in air, 
She dearly pays for Nisus' injured hair ! 
But when to mischief mortals bend their 
will. 
Bow soon they find fit instruments of ill! 
Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting grace 
A two-edged weapon from her shining case : 
So ladies, in romance, assist their knight — 
Present the spear and arm him for the fight. 
He takes the gift with reverence, and extends 
The little engine on his fingers' ends ; 
This just behind Belinda's neck he spread, 
As o'er the fragrant steams she bends her 

head. 
Swift to the lock a thousand sprites repair, 
A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the 

hair ; 
And thrice they twitched the diamond in her 

ear; 
Thrice she looked back, and thrice the foe 

drew near. 
fTust in that instant, anxious Ariel sought 
The close recesses of the virgin's thought : 
As on the nosegay in her breast reclined, 
Ho watched tlie ideas rising in her mind, 
Buddeu he viewed, in spite of all her art,. 
An earthly lover lurking at lier heart. 
Amazed, confused, he found his power ex- 
pired, 
Resigned to fate, and with a sigh retired. 



The peer now spreads the glittering forfex 

wide, 
T' enclose the lock ; now joins it, to divide. 
E'en then, before the fatal engine closed, 
A wretched sylph too fondly interposed ; 
Fate urged the shears, and cut the sylph in 

twain, 
(But airy substance soon unites again ;) 
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever 
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever ! 
Then flashed the living lightning from he 

eyes. 
And screams of horror rend the affrighted 

skies. 
Kot louder shrieks to pitying Heaven are 

cast 
When husbands, or when lapdogs, breathe 

their last ; 
Or when rich china vessels, fallen from high, 
In glittering dust and painted fragments lie ! 
"Let wreaths of triumph now my temples 

twine," 
The victor cried "the glorious prize is mine ! 
While fish in streams, or birds delight in air ; 
Or in a coach and six the British fair ; 
As long as Atalantis shall be read. 
Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed ; 
While visits shall be paid on solemn days, 
When numerous wax-lights in bright order 

blaze ; 
While nymphs take treats, or assignations 

give. 
So long my honor, name, and praise shall 

live! 
What time would spare, from steel receives 

its date ; 
And monuments, like men, submit to fiite ! 
Steel could the labor of the gods destroy, 
And strike to dust the imperial towers of 

Troy; 
Steel could the works of mortal pride con- 
found. 
And hew triumphal arches to the ground. 
What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs 

should feel 
The conquering force of unresisted steel ? " 

CANTO IV. 

But anxious cares the pensive nymph opprest 
And secret passions labored in her broast. 



412 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



N"ot youthful kings in battle seized alive ; 
N'ot scornful virgins who their charms survive ; 
!!Tot ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss ; 
Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss ; 
N'ot tyrants fierce that unrepenting die ; 
N'ot Cynthia when her mantua's pinned 

awry, 
E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, 
As thou, sad virgin ! for thy ravished hair. 
For, that sad moment, when fhe sylphs 
withdrew. 
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, 
Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite, 
As ever sullied the fair face of light, 
Down to the central earth, his proper scene. 
Repaired to search the gloomy cave of Spleen. 

Swift on his sooty pinions flits the gnome, 
And in a vapor reached the dismal dome. 
^o cheerful breeze this sullen region knows; 
The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. 
Here in a grotto sheltered close from air. 
And screened in shades from day's detested 

glare. 
She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, 
"Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head. 
Two handmaids wait the throne; alike in 
place. 
But difiiering far in figure and in face. 
Here stood Ill-nature, like an ancient maid. 
Her wrinkled form in black and white ar- 
rayed ; 
With store of prayers for mornings, nights, 

and noons. 
Her hand is filled ; her bosom with lampoons. 
There Aflfectation with a sickly mien, 
Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen ; 
Practised to lisp, and hang the head aside. 
Faints into airs, and languishes with pride ; 
On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe, 
Wrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for show — 
The fair ones feel such maladies as these, 
When each new night-dress gives a new dis- 
ease. 
A constant vapor o'er the palace flies ; 
Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise — 
Dreadful, as hermits' dreams in haunted 

shades. 
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids. 
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling 

spires, 
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fres; 



I»row lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes. 
And crystal domes, and angels in machines.. 
Unnumbered throngs on every side are 
seen. 
Of bodies changed to various forms by Spleer„ 
Here living teapots stand, one arm held out, 
One bent — the handle this, and that the spout; 
A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod walks ; 
Here sighs ajar, and there a goose-pie talks,; 
Men prove with child, as powerful fancy 

works ; 
And maids, turned bottles, call aloud for 
corks. 
Safe passed the gnome through this fantastic 
band, 
A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. 
Then thus addressed the power — " Hail, way- 
ward queen ! 
Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen ; 
Parent of vapors and of female wit. 
Who give the hysteric or poetic fit. 
On various tempers act by various ways. 
Make some take physic, others scribble plays ; 
W^ho cause the proud their visits to delay, 
And send the godly in a pet to pray. 
A nymph there is that all your power dis- 
dains. 
And thousands more in equal mirth maintains. 
But oh ! if e'er thy gnome could spoil a grace, 
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face. 
Like citron- waters matrons' cheeks inflame, 
Or change complexions at a losing game — 
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads. 
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds, 
Or caused suspicion when no soul was rude, 
Or discomposed the headdress of a prude, 
Or e'er to costive lapdog gave disease. 
Which not the tears of brightest eyes could 

ease — 
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin ; 
That single act gives half the world the 
spleen." 
The goddess, with a discontented air. 
Seems to reject him, though she grants his 

prayer. 
A wondrous bag with both her hands she 

binds, 
Like that when once Ulysses held the winds; 
There she collects the force of female lungs, 
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war ol 
tongues. 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



41S 



A vial next she fills with fainting fears, 
Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears. 
The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away, 
Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts 

to day. 
Sunk in Thalestris' ai-ms the nymph he 

found, 
Her eye dejected, and her hair unbound. 
Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he 

rent. 
And all the furies issued at the vent. 
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, 
And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. 
" O wretched maid ! " she spread her hands 

And cried, 
(While Hampton's echoes, '^ Wretched maid," 

replied,) 
" Was it for this you took such constant care 
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare ? 
For this your locks in paper durance bound ? 
For this with torturing irons wreathed 

around ? 
For this with fillets strained your tender 

head? 
And bi-avely bore the double loads of lead? 
Gods! shall the ravish er display your hair. 
While the fops envy, and the ladies stare? 
Honor forbid ! at whose unrivalled shrine 
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign. 
Methinks already I your tears survey. 
Already hear the horrid things they say ; 
Already see you a degraded toast. 
And all your honor in a whisper lost ! 
How shall I, then, your hapless fame defend ? 
'T will then be infamy to seem your friend ! 
And shall this prize, the inestimable prize, 
Exposed through crystal to the gazing eyes. 
And heightened by the diamond's circling 

rays, 
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze ? 
Sooner shall grass in Hyde park circus grow. 
And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow ; 
Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, 
Men, monkeys, lapdogs, parrots, perish all ! " 
She said; then, raging, to Sir Plume re- 
pairs, 
And bids her beau demand the precious hairs. 
Sir Plume, of amber snuflf-box justly vain. 
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane. 
With earnest eyes, and round, unthinking face, 
He first the snuffbox opened, then the case. 



And thus broke out — " My lord, why, what 

the devil ! 
Z — ds ! damn the lock ! 'fore Gad, you must 

be civil ! 
Plague on 't ! 't is past a jest — nay, prithee. 

pox! 
Give her the hair." — He spoke, and rapped 

his box. 
"It grieves me much (replied the peer 

again) 
Who speaks so well should ever speak in 

vain ; 
But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear, 
(Which never more shall join its parted hair ; 
Which never more its honors shall renew. 
Clipped from the lovely head where late it 

grew,) 
That, while my nostrils draw the vital air, 
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear." 
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph 

spread 
The long-contended honors of her head. 
But Umbriel, hateful gnome, forbears not 

so; 
He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow 
Then see ! the nymph in beauteous grief ap- 
pears. 
Her eyes half-languishing, half drowned in 

tears ; 
On her heaved bosom hung her drooping 

head. 
Which with a sigh she raised, and thus she 

said: 
" For ever cursed be this detested day, 
Which snatched my best, my favorite curJ 

away ; 
Happy ! ah ten times happy had I been, 
If Hampton Court these eyes had never seec 
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid. 
By love of courts to numerous ills betrayed. 
Oh had I rather unadmired remained 
In some lone isle, or distant northern land ; 
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way, 
Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste 

bohea ! 
There kept my charms concealed from murtaJ 

eye. 
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die. 
What moved my mind with youthful lords to 

roam ? 
Oh had I stayed, and said my prayer8 at home 1 



414 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



'T was this the morning omens seemed to tell, 
Thri(ie from my tremhling hand the patchbox 

fell; 
The tottering china shook without a wind, 
"NTay, Poll sat mnte, and Shock was most un- 
kind! 
A sylph, too, warned me of the threats of 

fate, 
In mystic visions, now believed too late ! 
See the poor remnant of these slighted hairs ! 
My hands shall rend w^hat e'en thy rapine 

spares : 
These in two sable ringlets taught to break, 
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck ; 
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone, 
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own ; 
Uncurled it hangs, the fatal shears demands. 
And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands. 
Oh hadst thou, cruel ! been content to seize 
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these ! " 

CANTO Y. 

She said : the pitying audience melt in tears ; 

But Fate and Jove had stopped the baron's 
ears. 

In vain Thalestris with reproach assails. 

For who can move when fair Belinda fails ? 

Not half so fixed the Trojan could remain, 

While Anna begged and Dido raged in vain. 

Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her fan ; 

Silence ensued, and thus the nympli began : 
*'Say, why are beauties praised and hon- 
ored most, 

The wise man's passion, and the vain man's 
toast? 

Why decked with all that land and sea afford? 

Why angels called, and angel-like adored? 

Why round our coaches crowd the white- 
gloved beaux ? 

Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows ? 

How vain are all these glories, all our pains, 

Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains ; 

Tliat men may say, when we the front-box 
grace. 

Behold the first in virtue as in face ! 

Oh I if to dance all "ight^ and dress all day 

Charmed the small-pox, or chased old age 
away. 

Who would not scorn what housewife's cares 
produce. 

Or who would learn one earthly thing of use ? 



To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint ; 
N'or could it, sure, be such a sin to paint. 
But since, alas ! frail beauty must decay ; 
Curled or uncurled, since locks will turn to 

gray ; 
Smce painted, or not painted, all shall fade. 
And she who scorns a man must die a maid, 
What then remains, but well our power to 

use, 
And keep good humor still, whate'er we lose? 
And trust me, dear, good humor can prevail, 
When airs, and flights, and screams, and 

scolding fail. 
Beauties in vain their pretty eyee may roll — 
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the 

soul." 
So spoke the dame, but no applause ensued ; 
Belinda frowned, Thalestris called her prude 
" To arms, to arms ! " the fierce virago cries. 
And swift as lightning to the combat flies. 
All side in parties, and begin the attack ; 
Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones 

crack ; 
Heroes' and heroines' shouts confusedly rise. 
And bass and treble voices strike the skies. 
jSTo common weapons in their hands are 

found — 
Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal 

wound. 
So when bold Homer makes the gods en- 
gage, 
And heavenly breasts with human passions 

rag^ ; 
'Gainst Pallas Mars; Latona Hermes arms ; 
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms ; 
Jove's thunder roars, heaven trembles all 

around. 
Blue Xeptune storms, the bellowing deeps re- 
sound ; 
Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground 

gives way, 
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day I 
Triumphant Umbriel, on a sconce's height, 
Clapped his glad wings, and sat to view the 

fight; 
Propped on their bodkin-spears, the spriteF 

survey 
The growing combat, or assist the fray. 
While through the press enraged Thalestris 

flies, 
And scatters death around from both her eyes 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 



415 



A. beau and Avitling perished in the throng — 
One died in metaphor, and one in song : 
*' cruel nymph ! a living death I bear,'' 
Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. 
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upward cast, 
* Those eyes are made so killing " — was his 

last. 
Thus on Meander's flowery margin lies 
The expiring swan, and as he sings he dies. 
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa 
down, 
Chloe stepped in, and killed him with a frown ; 
She smiled to see the doughty hero slain, 
But at her smile the beau revived again. 

Kow Jove suspends his golden scales in air. 
Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair ; 
The doubtful beam long nods from side to 

side; 
At length the wits mount up, the hairs sub- 
side. 
See, fierce Belinda on the baron flies. 
With more than usual lightning in her eyes ; 
N"or feared the chief th' unequal fight to try. 
Who sought no more than on his foe to die. 
But this bold lord, with manly strength en- 
dued, 
She with one finger and a thumb subdued : 
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew^, 
A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw ; 
The gnomes direct, to every atom just, 
The pungent grains of titillating dust. 
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows, 
And the high dome reechoes to his nose. 
" IsTow meet thy fate ! " incensed Belinda 
cried. 
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. 
(The same, his ancient personage to deck. 
Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck, 
In three seal-rings ; which after, melted 

down, 
Formed a vast buckle for his widow's gown ; 
iler infant grandame's whistle next it grew— 
Tlie bells she jingled, and the whistle blew ; 
Then in a bodkin graced her mother's hairs. 
Which long she wore, and now Belinda 
wears.) 
"Boast not my fall (he cried), insulting 
foe! 
Thou by some other siialt be laid as low ; 
Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind ; 
AH that I dread is leaving you behind I 



"Rather than so, ah let me still survive, 
iVnd burn in Cupid's flames — but burn alive." 
"Restore the lock!" she cries; and all 

around 
"Restore the lock!" the vaulted roofs re- 
bound. 
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain 
Roared for the handkerchief that caused his 

pain. 
But see how oft ambitious aims are crossed, 
And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost ! 
The lock, obtained with guilt, and kept with 

pain. 
In every place is sought, but sought in vain : 
With such a prize no mortal must be blest. 
So heaven decrees! with heaven who can 

contest ? 
Some thought it mounted to the lunar 

sphere. 
Since all things lost on earth are treasured 

there ; 
There heroes' wits are kept in ponderous 

vases, 
And beaux' in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases; 
There broken vows, and deathbed alms are 

found. 
And lovers' hearts with ends of ribbon bound. 
The courtier's promises, and sick men's 

prayers, 
The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea. 
Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. 

But trust the Muse — she saw it upward rise, 
Though marked by none but quick poetic 

eyes : 
(So Rome's great founder to the heavens 

withdrew. 
To Proculus alone confessed in view ;) 
A sudden star, it shot through liquid air. 
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. 
Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright, 
The heavens bespangling with dish-e veiled 

light. 
The sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, 
And, pleased, pursue its progress through the 

skies. 
This the beau monde shall from the Mali 

survey. 
And hail with music its propitious ray ; 
This the blest lover shall for Venus take, 
And send up vov.'s from Rosamonda's lake ; 



4J6 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless 
skies 

When next he looks through Galileo's eyes ; 

And hence the egregious wizard shall fore- 
doom 

The fate of Louis, and the fall of Eome. 
Then cease, bright nymph ! to mourn thy 
ravished hair, 

Which adds new glory to the shining sphere ! 

Not all the tresses that fair head can boast, 

Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost. 

For after all the murders of your eye, 

When, after millions slain, yourself shall die ; 

When those feir suns shall set, as set they 
must. 

And all those tresses shall be laid in dust — 

This lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame, 

And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name. 

Alexander Pope. 



THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN 
GILPIN, 

SHOWING HOW HE WENT FAETHEB THAN HE 
INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN. 

John Gilpin was a citizen 

Of credit and renown ; 
A trainband captain eke was he. 

Of famous London town. 

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear — 
" Though wedded we have been 

These twice ten tedious years, yet we 
No holiday have seen. 

** To-morrow is our wedding day, 

And we will then repair 
Unto the Bell at Edmonton 

All in a chaise and pair. 

'* My sister, and my sister's child, 

Myself, and children three. 
Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride 

On horseback after we." 

He soon replied, " I do admire 

Of womankind but one. 
And you are she, my dearest dear ; 

Therefore it shall be done. 



'' I am a linendraper bold, 

As all the world doth know ; 
And my good friend, the calender. 

Will lend his horse to go." 

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, " That's well said ; 

And, for that wine is dear. 
We will be furnished with our own. 

Which is both bright and clear." 

John Gilpin kissed his loving wife ; 

Overjoyed was he to find 
That, though on pleasure she was bent. 

She had a frugal mind. 

The morning came, the chaise was brought 

But yet was not allowed 
To drive up to the door, lest all 

Should say that she was proud. 

So three doors off the chaise was stayed 

Where they did all get in — 
Six precious souls, and all agog 

To dash through thick and thin. 

Smack went the whip, round went the 
wheels — 

Were never folks so glad ; 
The stones did rattle underneath. 

As if Oheapside were mad. 

John Gilpin at his horse's side 

Seized fast the flowing mane. 
And up he got, in haste to ride — 

But soon came down again : 

For saddletree scarce reached had he, 

His journey to begin, 
When, turning round his head, he saw 

Three customers come in. 

So down he came : for loss of time. 

Although it grieved him sore, 
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, 

Would trouble him much more. 



'T was long before the customers 

Were suited to their mind ; 
When Betty, screaming, came down stairs-^ 

" The ^ine is left behind ! " 



1 



THE HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 



417 



" Good lack I " quoth he — *' yet bring it me, 

My leathern belt likewise, 
In which I bear my trusty sword 

"When I do exercise." 

ITow Mistress Gilpin (careful soul !) 

Had two stone bottles found, 
To hold the liquor that she loved, 

And keep it safe and sound. 

Each bottle had a curling ear, 
Through which the belt he drew, 

And hung a bottle on each side, 
To make his balance true. 

Then over all, that he might be 

Equipped froip top to toe, 
His long red cloak, well brushed and neat. 

He manfully did throw. 

Now see him mounted once again 

Upon his nimble steed. 
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones. 

With caution and good heed. 

But finding soon a smoother road 

Beneath his well shod feet. 
The snorting beast began to trot. 

Which galled him in his seat. 

So, "Fair and softly," John he cried. 

But John he cried in vain ; 
That trot became a gallop soon, 

In spite of curb and rein. 

So stooping down, as needs he must 

Who cannot sit upright, 
He grasped the mane with both his hands. 

And eke with all his might. 

His horse, who never in that sort 

Had handled been before. 
What thing upon his back had got 

Did wonder more and more. 

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ; 

Away went hat and wig ; 
He little dreamt, when he set out, 

Of running such a rig. 

The wind did blow — the cloak did fly, 

Like streamer long and gay ; 
Till, loop and button failing both. 

At last it flew away. 
^57 



Then might all people well discern 

The bottles he had slung — 
A bottle swinging at each side. 

As hath been said or sung. 

The dogs did bark, the children screamed, 

Up flew the windows all ; 
And every soul cried out, " Well done I " 

As loud as he could bawl. 

Away went Gilpin — who but he ? 

His fame soon spread around — 
"He carries weight ! he rides a race ! 

' Tis for a thousand pound!" 

And still as fast as he drew near, 

' Twas wonderful to view 
How in a trice the turnpike men 

Their gates wide open threw. 

And now, as he went bowing down 

His reeking head full low. 
The bottles twain behind his back 

Were shattered at a blow. 

Down ran the wine into the road, 

Most piteous to be seen, 
Which made his horse's flanks to smoke 

As they had basted been. 

But still he seemed to carry weight. 

With leathern girdle braced ; 
For all might see the bottle necks 

Still dangling at his waist. 

Thus all through merry Islington 

These gambols did he play. 
Until he came unto the Wash 

Of Edmonton so gay ; 

And there he threw the wash about 

On both sides of the way. 
Just like unto a trundling mop, 

Or a wild goose at play. 

At Edmonton his loving wife 

From the balcony spied 
Her tender husband, wondering much 

To see how he did ride. 

" Stop, stop, John Gilpin I here 's the houbc 

They all at once did cry ; 
" The dinner waits, and we are tired : " 

SaidGiipin— "Soamll" 



418 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



But yet his horse was not a whit 

Inclined to tarry there ; 
For why ? — his owner had a house 

Full ten miles off, at "Ware. 

So like an arrow swift he flew, 
Shot by an archer strong ; 

So did he fly — which brings me to 
The middle of my song. 

Away went Gilpin out of breath, 
And sore ao;ainst his will. 

Till at his friend the calender's 
His horse at last stood still. 



The calender, amazed to see 
His neighbor in such trim. 

Laid down his pipe, flew to the 
And thus accosted him : 



" "What news ? what news? your tidings tell ; 

Tell me you must and shall — 
Say why bareheaded you are come, 

Or why you come at all ? " 

'N'ow Gilpin had a pleasant wit, 

And loved a timely joke ; 
And thus unto the calender 

In merry guise he spoke : 

" I came because your horse would come ; 

And, if I well forebode, 
My hat and wig will soon be here, 

They are upon the road." 

Tlie calender, right glad to find 

His friend in merry pin. 
Returned him not a single word, 

But to the house went in ; 

Whence straight he came with hat and wig : 

A wig that flowed behind, 
A hac not much the worse for wear — 

Each comely in its kind. 

He held them up, and in his turn 

Thus showed his ready wit — 
•' My head is twice as big as yours. 

They therefore needs must fit. 

" But let me scrape the dirt away 

That hangs upon your face ; 
And stop and eat., for well you may 

Be in a hungry case." 



Said John, " It is my wedding day, 
And all the world would stare 

If wife should dine at Edmonton, 
And I should dine *it Ware." 

So turning to his horse, he said 

" I am in haste to dine ; 
' Twas for your pleasure you came hero— 

You shall go back for mine." 

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast, 

For which he paid full dear ! 
For, while he spake, a braying ass 

Did sing most- load and clear; 

Whereat his horse did snort, as he 

Had heard a lion roar. 
And galloped off with all his might. 

As he had done before. 

Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went Gilpin's hat and wig : 
He lost them sooner than at first, 

For why ? — they were too big. 

I^ow Mistress Gilpin, when she saw 

Her husband posting down 
Into the country far away. 

She pulled out half a crown ; 

And thus unto the youth she said. 

That drove them to the Bell, 
" This shall be yours when you bring bacL 

My husband safe and well." 

The youth did ride, and soon did meet 
John coming back amain — 

Whom in a trice he tried to stop, 
By catching at his rein ; 

But not performing what he meant. 

And gladly would have done. 
The frighted steed he frighted more. 

And made him faster run. 



Away went Gilpin, and away 
Went post-boy at his heels, 

The post-boy's horse right glad to misB 
The lumbering of the wheels. 



Six gentlemen upon the road, 

Thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
With post-boy scampering m the rear. 

They raised the hue and cry : 



1 



SIR SIDNEY SMITH. 



419 



•* Stop thief! stop thief! — a highwayman ! " 

N'ot one of them was mute ; 
And aU and each that passed that way 

Did join in the pursuit. 

And now the turnpike gates again 

Flew open in short space ; 
The toll-men thinking as hefore, 

That Gilpin rode a race. 

And so he did, and won it too, 

For he got first to town ; 
N'or stopped till where he had got up 

He did again get down. 

Now let us sing, long live the king ! 

And Gilpin, long live he ; 
And when he next doth ride abroad, 

May I be there to see ! 

William Cowper. 



AN ELEGY ON THE GLOEY OF HER 
SEX, MES. MAEY BLAIZE. 

Good people all, with one accord 

Lament for Madame Blaiz^ 
Who never wanted a good wora— 

From those who spoke her praise. 

The needy seldom passed her door. 

And always found her kind ; 
She freely lent to all the poor — 

Who left a pledge behind. 

She strove the neighborhood to please 
With manners wondrous winning ; 

And never followed wicked ways — 
Unless when she was sinning. 

At church, in silks and satin new, 
With hoop of monstrous size. 

She never slumbered in her pew — 
But when she shut her eyes. 

Her love was sought, I do aver, 

By twenty beaux and more ; 
The king himself has followed her — 

When she has walked before. 

But now, her wealth and finery fled, 
Her hangers-on cut short all ; 



The doctors found, when she was dead — 
Her last disorder mortal. 

Let us lament in sorrow sore, 
For Kent street well may say. 

That had she lived a twelvemonth more, 
She ha d not died to-day. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 



SIE SIDNEY SMITH. 

Gejttlefolks, in my time, I 've made many a 

rhyme, 
But the song I now trouble you with, 
Lays some claim to applause, and you'll 

grant it, because 
The subject 's Sir Sidney Smith, it is ; 
The subject 's Sir Sidney Smith. 

We all know Sir Sidney, a man of such kid- 

i^ey. 
He 'd fight every foe he could meet ; 
Give him one ship for two, and without more 

ado. 
He'd engage if he met a whole fleet, he 

would. 
He 'd engage if he met a whole fleet. 

Thus he took every day, all that came in his 

way. 
Till fortune, that changeable elf, 
Ordered accidents so, that while taking the 

foe. 
Sir Sidney got taken himself, he did, 
Sir Sidney got taken himself. 

His captors right glad of the prize they now 

had, 
Eejected each ofier Ave bid. 
And swore he should stay locked up till 

doomsday ; 
But he swore he 'd be d d if he did, he 

did; 
But he swore he VI be hanged if lie did. 

So Sir Sid got away, and his jniler next day 
Cried '* sacre, diable,.morbleu, 
Mon prisonnier 'scape ; I 'ave got in von scrnpe 
And I fear I must run away too, I must, 
I fear I must run away too I " 



i20 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



[f Sir Sidney was wrong, why then blackball 

ray song, 
E'en his foes he would scorn to deceive ; 
His escape was but juist, and confess it you 

must, 
For it only was taking French leave, you 

know, 
Ft only was taking French leave. 

Thomas Dibdix. 



MASSACRE OF THE MACPHERSOK 



Fhaieshon swore a feud 

Against the clan M'Tavish — 
Marched into their land 

To murder and to rafish ; 
For he did resolve 

To extirpate the vipers, 
With four-and- twenty men. 

And five-and-thirty pipers. 

II. 

Bat when he had gone 

Half-way down Strath-Oanaan, 
Of his fighting tail 

Just three were remainin'. 
They were all he had 

To back him in ta battle ; 
All the rest had gone 

Off to drive ta cattle. 



"Fery coot ! " cried Fhairshon- 

'' So my clan disgraced is ; 
Lads, we '11 need to fight 

Pefore we touch ta peasties. 
Here 's Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh 

Coming wi' his fassals — 
Gillies seventy-three. 

And sixty Dhuin6wassels ! " 

IV. 

" Coot tay to you, sir ! 

Are you not ta Fhairshon ? 
Was you coming here 

To visit any person ? 



You are a plackguard, sir ? 

It is now six hundred 
Coot long years, and more, 

Since my glen was plundered," 



"Fat is tat you say? 

Dar you cock your peavor ? 
I will teach you, sir. 

Fat is coot pehaviour ! 
You shall not exist 

For another day more ; 
I will shot you, sir, 

Or stap you with my claymore I " 

TI. 

''I am fery glad 

To learn what you mention, 
Since I can prevent 

Any such intention." 
So Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh 

Gave some warlike howls, 
Trew his skhian-dhu, 

An' stuck it in his powels. 

YII. 

In this fery way 

Tied ta fahant Fhau*shon, 
Who was always thought 

A superior person. 
Fhairshon had a son. 

Who married Noah's daughter* 
And nearly spoiled ta flood 

By trinking up ta water - 

VIII. 

Which he would have done. 

I at least believe it, 
Had ta mixture peen 

Only half Glenlivet. 
This is all my tale : 

Sirs, I hope 't is new t' ye ! 
Here 's your fery good healths, 

And tamn ta whusky tuty ! 

William Edmondstonk Attouh 



TAM O'SHANTER. 



421 



TAM O'SHANTEE. 



Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. 

Gawin Douglass^ 

V/hen cliapman billies leave the street, 
And droutliy neebors neebors meet, 
As market-da js are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappj, 
An' getting fou and unco happj, 
We think na on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles. 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulkj, sullen dame. 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
Kursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tarn o' Shanter, 
As he, frae Ayr, ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonnie lasses). 

O Tam ! hadst thou been but sae wise 
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A bleth'ring, blust'ring, drunken bielluni ; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober ; 
That ilka melder, wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 
That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirten Jean till Monday. 
She prophesied that, late or soon, 
Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon ; 
Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk, 
By AUoway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames I it gars me greet 
To think how monie counsels sweet. 
How monie lengtliened sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night 
Tam had got planted unco right. 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; 
And at his elbow souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony — 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither — 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 



The night drave on wi' sanga and clatter. 
And ay the ale was growing better ; 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favors secret, sweet, and precious ; 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy; 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure. 
The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure ; 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-fall in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever ; 
Or like the borealis race. 
That flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or Hke the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. 
Kae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride — 
That hour o' night's black arch the keystane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in-, 
And sic a night he takes the road in 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallov/ed ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellowed*, 
That night a child might understand 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, 
(A better never lifted leg), 
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire — 
Whyles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, 
Whyles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, 
Whyles glow 'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him imawares ; 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh. 
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman snioorcd ; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn ; 



i22 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



A.iid near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Where Mungo's naither hanged hersel. 
Before him Doon poui's all his floods : 
The doubling storm roars through tlie woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Xear and more near the thunders roll ; 
When glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk Allowaj seemed in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
Wliat dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquabae we '11 face the Devil ! — 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's nod- 
dle, 
Fair play, he cared na Deils a bodle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonished. 
Till, by the heel and hand admonished, 
She ventured forwai^d on the light ; 
And, wow ! Tarn saw an unco sight ; 
Warlocks and witches in a dance : 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs strathspreys, and reels 
Put life and mettle in their heels 
A winnock-bunker in the east, 
There sat auld Mck, in shape o' beast — 
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large — 
To gie them music was his chai'-ge ; ^ 
He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl, 
Till roof an' rafter a' did dM. 
Coffins stood round like open presses. 
That shawed the dead in their last dresses ; 
And by some devilish cantrips sleight. 
Each in its cauld hand held a light — 
By which heroic Tarn was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A mm*derer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns ; 
A thief, new cutted fra a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red rusted ; 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife a father's throat had mangled. 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft — 
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
Three lawyers' tongues turned inside out, 
Wi' lies seamed like a beggar's clout ; 
And pnests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk : 



Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu' 

WTiich ev'n to name would be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowred, amazed, and curious 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious ; 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they 

cleckit. 
Till ilka cai'hn swat and reekit, 
And coost her duddies to the wark, 
And linket at it in her sark. 

Xow Tarn, Tarn ! had they been queana 
A' plump and strapping in their teens : 
Theii- sarks, instead of creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen ; 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them afi' my hurdies, 
For {\e blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But withered beldams, auld and droll, 
Eigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping an' flinging on a crummock — 
I wonder did na turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kenn'd what was what fu' brawlio-. 
There was ae winsome wench and walie, 
That night inhsted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ! 
For monie a beast to dead she shot. 
And perished monie a bonnie boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear), 
Her cutty-sark o' Paisley harn, 
That while a lassie she had worn — 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty. 
It was her best, and she was vaunty. 
Ah ! httle kenn'd thy reverend grannie 
That sark she coft for her wee ISTannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots (twas a' her riches) — 
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cower, 
Sic flights are far beyond her power ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jad she was and Strang) ; 
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched. 
And thought his very een enriched. 
Ev'n Satan glowred, and fidged fu' fain, 
And botched and blew wi' might and main 
Till first ae caper, syne anither — 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither. 
And roars out, *' Weel done, Outty-sark ! " 
And in an instant a' was dark ; 



THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS. 



423 



And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied, 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke. 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes. 
When pop I she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When Catch the thief/ resounds aloud ; 
So Maggie runs — the witches follow, 
Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tarn ! ah. Tarn ! thou '11 get thy fair- 
inM 
In hell they '11 roast thee like a h err in ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' — 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss — 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake ; 
For Nannie, far before the rest. 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 
And flew at Tam wi' farious ettle : 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought aff her master hale, 
But left behind her ain grey tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Qk man and mother's son take heed ; 
Whene'er to drink you are inclined, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear^ 
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 

Egbert Btiens. 



COLOGNE. 

In Koln, a town of monks and bones, 

And pavements fanged with murderous stones. 

And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches — 

[ connted two and seventy stenches, 

All well defined and several stinks I 

Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks. 

The river Rhine, it is well known. 

Doth wash your city of Cologne ; 

But tell me, nymphs 1 what power divine 

Shall henceforth wash the river Khine ? 

Samukl Taylok Coleridge. 



THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS. 



Feom his brimstone bed at break of day 

A walking the devil is gone. 
To visit his snug little farm, the earth, 

And see how his stock goes on. 

II. 
Over the hill and over the dale. 
And he went over the plain ; 
And backward and forward he switched Ma 
long tail. 
As a gentleman switches his cane. 

in. 
And how then was the devil drest? 
Oh ! he was in his Sunday's best : 
His jacket was red and his breeches were 

blue. 
And there was a hole where the tail came 

through. 

IV. 

He saw a lawyer killing a viper 

On a dunghill hard by his own stable ; 

And the devil smiled, for it put him in mind 
Of Cain and his brother Abel. 

V. 

He saw an apothecary on a white horse 

Ride by on his vocations ; 
And the devil thought of his old friend 



Death, in the Revelations. 



VI. 



He saw a cottage with a double coach-house, 

A cottage of gentility ; 
And the devil did grin, for his darling sin 

Is pride that apes humility. 



He peeped into a rich bookseller's shop — 
Quoth he, " We are both of one college I 

For I sate, myself, like a cormorant, once, 
Hard by the tree of knowledge." 

VIII. 

Down the river did glide, witli wind and with 
tide, 
A pig with vast celerity ; 



t24 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



knd the devil looked wise as he saw how, 

the while, 
ft cut its own throat. " There ! " quoth he 

with a smile, 
'' Goes England's commercial prosperity." 

IX. 

As he went through Cold-Bath Fields he saw 

A solitaiy cell ; 
And the devil was pleased, for it gave him a 
hint 

For improving his prisons in hell. 



He saw a turnkey in a trice 

Fetter a trouhlesome hlade ; 
" ISTimbly," quoth he, " do the fingers move 

If a man he but used to his trade." 



He saw the same turnkey unfetter a man 

With but little expedition ; 
Which put him in mind of the long debate 

On the slave-trade abolition. 



He saw an old acquaintance 

As he passed by a Methodist meeting ; 
She holds a consecrated key. 

And the devil nods her a greeting. 

Xlll. 

6he turned up her nose, and said, 
" Avaunt ! — my name 's Religion! " 

And she looked to Mr. , 

And leered like a love-sick pigeon. 

XIV. 



He saw a certain minister, 
A minister to his mind, 

Gro up into a certain house, 
With a majority behind; 



XV. 



The devil quoted Genesis, 
Like a very learned clerk, 

How " ISToah and his creeping things 
Went up into the ark." 



XVI. 



He took from the poor, 

And he gave to the rich, 
And he shook hands with a Scotchmari, 

For he was not afraid of the 



XVII. 

• burning face 



General 

He saw with consternation, 
And back to hell his way did he take — 
For the devil thought by a slight mistake 

It was a general conflagration. 

Samuel Taylor Coleeidge. 



THE HAG. 

The hag is astride, 

This night for to ride — 
The devil and she together ; 

Through thick and through thin, 

Kow out and then in, 
Though ne'er so foul be the weather. 

A thorn or a burr 

She takes for a spur ; 
With a lash of the bramble she rides now 

Through brakes and through briers, 

O'er ditches and mires, 
Slie follows the spirit that guides now. 

'No beast, for his food. 

Dares now range the wood, 
But husht in his lair he lies lurking ; 

While mischiefs, by these. 

On land and on seas. 
At noon of night are a- working. 

The storm will arise. 

And trouble the skies. 
This night ; and, more the wonder, 

The ghost from the tomb 

Aflrighted shall come. 
Called out by the clap of the thunder. 

Egbert IlrRKKrn 



SONG. 



425 



THE FKIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE 
KNIFE-GRINDER. 

FRIEND OF HUMANITY. 

Needy knife-grinder! whither are you 
going? 
Itough is the road ; your wheel is out of order. 
Bleak blows the blast ; — your hat has got a 
hole in 't ; 

So have your breeches! 

' Weary knife-grinder ! little think the proud 

ones, 
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike- 
road, what hard work 't is crying all day 

' Knives and 
Scissors to grind ! ' 

*' Tell me, knife-grinder, how came you to 

grind knives ? 
Did some rich man tyrannically use you ? 
Was it the squire? or parson of the parish? 

Or the attorney ? 

"^ Was it the squire for killing of his game? or 
Covetous parson for his tithes distraining ? 
Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little 
AU in a lawsuit ? 

" (Have you not read the Rights of Man, by 

Tom Paine ?) 
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, 
Ready to fall as soon as you have told your 

Pitiful story." 



KNIFE-GRINDER. 

' Story ! God bless you ! I have none to tell, 

sir; 
Only, last night, a-drinking at the Chequers, 
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, 

were 

Torn in a scuffle. 

" Constables came up for to take me into 
Custody; they took me before the justice; 
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish- 
stocks for a vagrant. 



"I should be glad to drink your honors 

health in 
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence ; 
But for my part, I never love to meddle 
With politics, sir." 

FRIEND OF HUMANITY. 

" I give thee sixpence ! I will see thee damned 

first — 
Wretch ! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse 

to vengeance — 

Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, 

Spiritless outcast ! " 

[Kicks the knife-grinder^ (yvertums Ms wheel, and eo^i 
in a transport of republican enthusiasm and um- 
versal philanthropy.'] 

Geoege Canning. 



SONG 

OF ONE ELEVEN YEARS IN PEIBON. 

Whene'er with haggard eyes I view 
This dungeon that I 'm rotting in, 
I think of those companions true 
Who studied with me at the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

[ Weeps and pulls out a blue kerchief witJi which he 
wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it^ he proceeds ;] 

Sweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue, 

Which once my love sat knotting in — 
Alas, Matilda then was true ! 
At least I thought so at the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

[At the repetition qf this line he clanks his chains in 
cadence.] 

Barbs ! barbs ! alas ! how swift you flew, 

Her neat post-wagon trotting in ! 
Ye bore Matilda from my view ; 
Forlorn I languished at the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

This faded form ! this pallid hue ! 

This blood my veins is clotting in ! 
My years are many — they were few 
When first I entered at the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity. of Gottingen. 



126 



POEMS OF 



C0MED1[;^ 

5 



There first for thee ray passion grew, 

Sweet, sweet Matilda PottirgenI 
Thou wast the daughter of my tu- 
tor, law-professor at the U- 

niversity of Gcttingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu, 
That kings and priests are plotting in ; 
Here doomed to starve on water gru- 
el, never shall I see the U- 

niversity of Gottingen, 
niversity of Gottingen. 

[During the last stanza he dashes his head repeatedly 
against the walls of his .prison^ and finally so 
hard as to produce a visible contusion. He then 
throws himself on the floor in an agony. The cur- 
tain drops., the music sUll continuing to play till it 
is wholly fallen.^ 

Geoboe Canning. 



A RECEIPT FOR SALAD. 

To make this condiment your poet hegs 

The pounded yellow of two hard-hoiled eggs ; 

Two hoiled potatoes, passed through kitchen 
sieve. 

Smoothness and softness to the salad give; 

Let onion atoms lurk witlim the howl, 

And, half suspected, animate the whole ; 

Of mordent mustard add a single spoon, 

Distrust the condiment that bites so soon ; 

But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault 

To add a double quantity of salt ; 

Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca 
crown. 

And twice with vinegar, procured from town ; 

And lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss 

A magic soupQon of anchovy sauce. 

Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous 
treat ! 

*T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat ; 

Back to the world he 'd turn his fleeting soul. 

And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl ; 

Serenely full, the epicure would say, 

■* Fato cannot harm me, — I have dined to- 
day." 

Sydney Smith. 



THE ESSEIS^CE OF OPERA ; 

OE, ALMANZOR AND IMOGEN. 

An Opera^ in three Acts, 



I 



SUBJECT OF THE OPSEA. 
A brave young prince a young princess adores; 
A combat kills him, but a god restores. 

PEOLOGIIE. 

A Musician. People, appear, approach, 8*1 
vance! 

To Singers, 
You that can sing, the chorus bear! 

To Dancers, 
You that can turn your toes out, dance I 
Let 's celebrate this faithful pair. 



ACT I. 
Imogen. My love ! 
Almanzoe. My soul ! 

Both. At length then we unite ! 
People, sing, dance, and show us your delight!. 
Choeus. Let 's sing, and dance, and shov; 
'em our dehght. 



Imogen. 



ACT IL 
love ! 



[A noise of war. The prince appears^ pursued hy hii} 
enemies. Combat. The princess faints. ThepriTice 
is mortally wounded.] 

Almanzoe. Alas ! 
Imogen. Ah, what! 

Almanzoe. I die ! 

Imogen. Ah me ! 

People, sing, dance, and show your misery ! 
Choeus. Let 's sing, and dance, and show 
our misery. 



ACT IIL 

[Pallas descends in a cloud to Almanzor and speaks.! 
Pallas. Almanzor, live ! 
Imogen. Oh, bliss! 
Almanzoe. Wliat do I see ? 
Teio. People, sing, dance, and hail this 

prodigy! 
Choeus. Let's sing, and dance, and hail 
this prodigy. 
Anonymous TranslatloD. 



Ajfo:»YM0C8. (French.) 



A F^EWELL TO TOBACCO. 



427 



HYPOCHONDPvIAOUS. 

By myself walking, 

To myself talking 

When as I ruminate 

On my untoward fate, 

Scarcely seem I 

Alone sufficiently, 

Black thoughts continually 

Crowding my privacy. 

They come unbidden, 

Like foes at a wedding, 

Thrusting their faces 

In Tbetter guests' places, 

Peevish and malcontent, 

Clownish, impertinent, 

Dashing the merriment : 

So, in hke fashions. 

Dim cogitations 

Follow and haunt me. 

Striving to daunt me, 

In my heart festering, 

In my ears whispermg — 

' Thy friends are treacherous, 

Thy foes are dangerous, 

Thy dreams ominous." 



Fierce anthropophagi, 
Spectres, diaboli — 
What scared St. Anthony — 
Hobgobhns, lemures. 
Dreams of antipodes ! 
Mght-riding incubi 
Troubling the fantasy, 
All dire illusions 
Causing confusions : 
Figments heretical, 
Scruples fantastical. 
Doubts diabolical I 
Abaddon vexeth me, 
Mahu perplexeth me ; 
Lucifer teareth mo — 

Jei>u! Maria! liberate nos ah his diris 
tcntationibis Inimici, 

Chabieb Lamb. 



A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO. 

May the Babylonish curse 

Strait confound my stammering verse, 

If I can a passage see 

In this word-perplexity. 

Or a fit expression find, 

Or a language to my mind 

(Still the phrase is wide or scant), 

To take leave of thee, great plant ! 

Or in any terms relate 

Half my love, or half my hate ; 

For I hate, yet love, thee so, 

That, whichever thing I shew. 

The plain truth will seem to be 

A constrained hyperbole, 

And the passion to proceed 

More for a mistress than a weed. 



Sooty retainer to the vine ! 
Bacchus's black servant, negro fine I 
Sorcerer ! that mak'st us dote upon 
Thy begrimed complexion, 
And, for thy pernicious sake. 
More and greater oaths to break 
Than reclaimed lovers take 
'Gainst women ! Thou thy siege dost lay 
Much, too, in the female way. 
While thou suck'st the laboring breath 
Faster than kisses, or than death. 

Thou in such a cloud dost bind us 
That our worst foes cannot find us. 
And iU fortune, that would thwart us, 
Shoots at rovers, shooting at us ; 
While each man, through thy heigh t'ning 

steam. 
Does like a smoking Etna seem ; 
And all about us does express 
(Fancy and wit in richest dress) 
A Sicilian fruitfulness. 

Thou through such a mist dost show uc- 
That our best friends do not know us, 
And, for those allowed features 
Due to reasonable creatures, 
Liken'st us to fell chimeras. 
Monsters — that who see us, fear us ; 



428 



POEMS 01- COMEDY. 



Worse than Cerberus or Geryon, 
( >r, wlio first loved a cloud, Ixion. 

Eacclius we kuow, and we allovv 
His tipsy rites. But what art thou, 
That but by reflex can'st shew 
What his deity can do — 
As the false Egyptian spell 
Aped the true Hebrew miracle ? 
Some few vapors thou may'st raise, 
The weak brain may serve to amaze ; 
But to the reins and nobler heart 
Oan'st nor life nor heat impart. 

Brother of Bacchus, later born ! 
The old world was sure forlorn, 
Wanting thee, that aidest more 
The god's victories than, before. 
All his panthers, and the brawls 
Of his piping Bacchanals. 
These, as stale, we disallow. 
Or judge of thee meant : only thou 
His true Indian conquest art ; 
And, for ivy round his dart. 
The reformed god now weaves 
A finer thyrsus of thy leaves. 

Scent to match thy rich perfume 
Chemic art did ne'er presume — 
Through her quaint alembjc strain, 
ITone so sovereign to the brain. 
N'ature, that did in thee excel, 
Framed again no second smell. 
Koses, violets, but toys 
For the smaller sort of boys. 
Or for greener damsels meant ; 
Thou art the only manly scent. 

Stinkingest of the stinking kind ! 
Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind ! 
Africa, that brags her foyson, 
Breeds no such prodigious poison ! 
Henbane, nightshade, both together, 
Hemlock, aconite 

IS'ay, rather, 
Plant divine, of rarest virtue I 
Blisters on the tongue would hurt you ! 



'T vas but in a sort I blamed thee ; 

None e'er prospered who defamed thee ; 

Irony all, and feigned abuse. 

Such as perplext lovers use 

At a need, when, in despair 

To paint forth their fairest fair, 

Or in part but to express 

That exceeding comeliness 

Which their fancies doth so strika 

They borrow language of dislike ; 

And, instead of dearest Miss, 

Jewel, honey, sweetheart, bliss. 

And those forms of old admiring, 

Call her cockatrice and siren. 

Basilisk, and aU that 's evil, 

Witch, hyena, mermaid, devil, 

Ethiop, wench, and blackamoor, 

Monkey, ape, and twenty more — 

Friendly trait'ress, loving foe — 

Kot that she is truly so. 

But no other way they know, 

A contentment to express 

Borders so upon excess 

That they do not rightly wot 

Whether it be from pain or not. 



Or, as men, constrained to part 
With what 's nearest to their heart. 
While then* sorrow 's at the height 
Lose discrimination quite, 
And their hasty wrath let fall. 
To appease their frantic gall. 
On the darling thing, whatever. 
Whence they feel it death to sever, 
Though it be, as they, perforce, 
Guiltless of the sad divorce. 



For I must (nor let it grieve thee. 
Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave 

thee. 
For thy sake, tobacco, I 
Would do anythiug but die. 
And but seek to extend my days 
Long enough to sing thy praise. 
But, as she, who once hath been 
A king's consort, is a queen 
Ever after, nor will hate 
Any tittle of her state 



FAITHLESS NELLIE GRAY. 



429 



Though a widow, or divorced — 
So I, from thy converse forced, 
The old name and style retain, 
A right Catherine of Spain ; 
And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys 
Of the blest tobacco boys ; 
Where though I, by sour physician, 
Am debarred the full fruition 
Of thy favors, I may catch 
Some collateral sweets, and snatch 
Sidelong odors, that give life 
Like glances from a neighbor's wife ; 
And still live in ths by-places 
And the suburbs of thy graces ; 
And in thy borders take delight. 
An unconquered Canaanite. 

Chables Lamb. 



FAITHLESS l^ELLY GKAY. 

A PATHETIC BALLAD. 

Ben Battle was a soldier bold, 
And used to war's alarms; 

But a cannon-ball took off his legs, 
So he laid down his arms. 



Now as they bore him off the field, 
Said he, " Let others shoot ; 

For here I leave my second leg, 
And the Forty-second foot." 

The army-surgeons made him limbs : 
Said he, " They 're only pegs ; 

But there 's as wooden members quite, 
As represent my legs." 



Now Ben he loved a pretty maid — 
Her name was Nelly Gray ; 

So he went to pay her his devours, 
When he devoured his pay. 

But when he called on Nelly Gray, 
She made him quite a scoff; 

And when she saw his wooden legs. 
Began to take them off. 



" 0, Nelly Gray! O, Nelly Gray ! 

Is this your love so warm ? 
The love that loves a scarlet coat 

Should be more uniform." 



Said she, " I loved a soldier once, 
For he was blithe and brave ; 

But I will never have a man 
With both legs in the grave. 

" Before you had those timber toes 

Your love I did allow ; 
But then, you know, you stand upon 

Another footing now." 

" 0, Nelly Gray I 0, Nelly Gray ! 

For all your jeering speeches. 
At duty's call I left my legs 

In Badajos's breaches." 

"Why then," said she, " you 've lost txie 
feet 
Of legs in war's alarms. 
And now you cannot wear your shots 
Upon your feats of arms." 
« 

" 0, false and fickle Nelly Gray ! 

I know why you refuse : 
Though I've no feet, some other man 

Is standing in my shoes. 



" I wish I ne'er had seen your face ; 

But, now, a long farewell ! 
For you wiU be my death ; — alas I 

You will not be my Nell 1 " 



Now when he went from Nelly Gray 

His heart so heavy got. 
And life was such a burden grown. 

It made him take a knot. 



So round his melancholy neck 
A rope he did entwine, 

And, for his second time in life, 
Enlisted in the line. 



iSO 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



One end he tied around a beam, 
And then removed his pegs ; 

And, as his legs were off, — of course 
He soon was off his legs. 

And there he hung, till he fvas dead 

As any nail in town ; 
For, though distress had cut him up, 

It could not cut him down. 

A dozen men sat on his corpse. 

To find out why he died — 
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads. 

With a stake in his inside. 

Thomas Hood. 



FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. 

AN OLD BALLAD. 

YoTJNa Ben he was a nice young man, 

A carpenter by trade ; 
And he fell in love with Sally Brown, 

That was a lady's maid. 

But as they fetched a walk one day. 

They met a press-gang crew ; 
And Sally she did faint away. 

Whilst Ben he was brought to. 

The boatswain swore with wicked words, 

Enough to shock a saint, 
That though she did seem in a fit, 

'T was nothing but a feint. 

^' Come, girl," said he, ' ' hold z.-p your i: ead— 

He'll be as good as me ; 
For when your swain is in our boat 

A boatswain he will be." 

So when they 'd made their game of her. 

And taken off her elf. 
She roused, and found she only was 

A-coming to herself. 

'* And is lie gone, and is he gone ? " 
She cried, and wept outright ; 

" Then I will to the water-side, 
And see him out of sight." 

A. waterman came up to her; 

" Now, young woman," said he. 
" If you weep on so, you will make 

Eye water in the sea." 



" Alas ! they Ve taken my beau, Ben, 

To sail with old Benbow ; " 
And her woe began to run afresh, 

As if she 'd said. Gee woe ! 

Says he, " They 've only taken him 

To the tender ship, you see." 
•' The tender ship," cried Sally Brown — 

" What a hard ship that must be ! 

"Oh ! would I were a mermaid now, 

For then I 'd follow him ; 
But oh ! —I 'ra not a fish woman, 

And so I cannot swim. 

" Alas ! I was not born beneath 

The vh^gin and the scales. 
So I must curse my cruel stars, 

And walk about in Wales." 

Now Ben had sailed to many a place 
That's underneath the world ; 

But in two years the ship came home,, 
And all her sails were furled. 

But when he called on Sally Brown, 

To see how she got on. 
He found she 'd got another Ben, 

Whose Ohristian-name was John, 

•0, Sally Brown, 0, Sally Brown, 

How could you serve me so ? 
I 've met with many a breeze before, 
But never such a blow ! " 

Then reading on his 'bacco box. 

He heaved a heavy sigh. 
And then began to eye his pipe, 

And then to pipe his eye. 

And then he tried to sing " All 's Well ! " 
But could not, though he tried ; 

His head was turned — and so he chewed 
His pigtail till he died. 

His death, which happened in his berth. 

At forty-odd befell ; 
They went and told the sexton, and 

The sexton tolled the bell. 

Thomas Hooa 



THE WHITE SQUALL. 



431 



THE LADY AT SEA. 

Cables entangling hor ; 
Ship-spars for mangling her ; 
Kopes sure of strangling her ; 
Blocks over- dangling her ; 
Tiller to batter her ; 
Topmast to shatter her ; 
Tobacco to spatter her ; 
Boreas blustering ; 
Boatswain quite flustering ; 
Thunder-clouds mustering, 
To blast her with sulphur — 
If the deep don 't ingulph her ; 
Sometimes fear 's scrutiny 
Pries out a mutiny, 
Sniffs conflagration, 
Or hints at starvation ; 
All the sea dangers, 
Buccaneers, rangers, 
Pirates, and Sallee-men, 
Algerine galleymen. 
Tornadoes and typhous. 
And horrible syphons, 
And submarine travels 
Thro' roaring sea-navels ; 
Every thing wrong enough — 
Long-boat not long enough ; 
Vessel not strong enough ; 
Pitch marring frippery ; 
The deck very slippery ; 
And the cabin — built sloping ; 
The captain a-toping ; 
And the mate a blasphemer. 
That names his Redeemer — 
"With inward uneasiness ; 
The cook known by greasiness ; 
The victuals beslubbered ; 
Her bed — in a cupboard; 
Things of strange christening. 
Snatched in her listening ; 
Blue lights and red lights. 
And mention of dead lights ; 
And shrouds made a theme of — 
Things horrid to dream of; 
And buoys in the water ; 
To fear all exhort her. 
Her friend no Leander — 
Herself no sea gander : 



And ne'er a cork jacket 
On board of the i)acket ; 
The breeze still a-stifiening ; 
The trumpet quite deafening ; 
Thoughts of repentance, 
And doomsday, and sentence ; 
Every thing sinister — 
'Not a church minister ; 
Pilot a blunderer ; 
Coral reefs under her, 
Heady to sunder her : 
Trunks tipsy-topsy ; 
The ship in a dropsy ; 
AYaves oversurging her ; 
Sirens a-dirging her ; 
Sharks all expecting her ; 
Sword-fish dissecting her ; 
Crabs with their hand-vices 
Punishing land vices ; 
Sea-dogs and unicorns, 
Things with no puny horns ; 
Mermen carnivorous — 
" Good Lord deliver us ! " 

Thomas Bc^hx 



THE WHITE SQUALL. 

On deck, beneath the awning, 
I dozing lay and yawning ; 
It was the gray of dawning, 

Ere yet the sun arose ; 
And above the funnel's roaring, 
And the fitful wind's deploring, 
I heard the cabin snoring 

With universal nose. 
I could hear the passengers snorting — 
I envied their disporting — 
Vainly I was cou^'ting 

Tlie pleasure of a doze. 

So I lay, and wondered why light 
Came not, and watched the twilight, 
And the glimmer of the skylight. 

That shot across the deck ; 
And the binnacle pale and steady, 
And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye. 
And the sparks in fiery eddy 

That whirled from the chimney neck 
In our jovial floating prison 



432 



POEMS OF OOMEDY. 



There was sleep from fore to mizzen, 
And never a star had risen 

The hazy sky to speck. 
Strange company we harbored : 
We 'd a Imndred Jews to larboard, 
Unwashed, uncombed, nnbarbered — 

Jews black, and brown, and gray. 

With terror it would seize ye. 
And make your souls uneasy, 
To see those Rabbis greasy, 

Who did nought but scratch and pray. 
Their dirty children puking — 
Their dirty saucepans cooking — 
Their dirty fingers hooking 

Their swarming fleas away. 

To starboard Turks and Greeks were — 
Whiskered and brown their cheeks wef e- 
Enormous wide their breeks were — 

Their pipes did puff away ; 
Each on his mat allotted 
In silence smoked and squatted. 
Whilst round their children trotted 

In pretty, pleasant play. 
He can't but smile who traces 
The smiles on those brown faces, 
And the pretty, prattling graces 

Of those small heathens gay. 

And so the hours kept tolling — 
And through the ocean rolling 
Went the brave Iberia bowling. 
Before the break of day 

When a squall, upon a sudden, 
Came o'er the waters scudding ; 
And the clouds began to gather, 
And the sea was lashed to lather, 
And the lowering thunder grumbled. 
And the lightning jumped and tumbled ; 
And the ship, and all the ocean. 
Woke up in wild commotion. 
Then the wind set up a howling, 
And the poodle dog a yowling. 
And the cocks began a crowing. 
And the old cow raised a lowing. 
As she heard the tempest blowing ; 
And fowls and geese did cackle ; 
And the cordage and the tackle 
Began to shriek and crackle ; 



And the spray dashed o'er the funnels, 
And down the deck in runnels ; 
And the rushing water soaks all, 
From the seamen in the fo'ksal 
To the stokers, whose black faces 
Peer out of their bed-places ; 
And the captain he was bawling. 
And the sailors pulling, hauling. 
And the quarter-deck tarpauling 
Was shivered in the squalling ; 
And the passengers awaken. 
Most pitifully shaken ; 
And the steward jumps up, and hastens 
For the necessary basins. 

Then the Greeks they groaned and quiv- 
ered. 
And they knelt, and moaned, and shivered 
As the plunging waters met them, 
And splashed and overset them ; 
And they called in their emergence 
Upon countless saints and virgins ; 
And their marrowbones are bended. 
And they think the world is ended. 
And the Turkish women for'ard 
Were frightened and behorrored , 
And, shrieking and bewildering, 
The mothers clutched their children ; 
The men sang *' AUah ! lUah ! 
Mashallah Bismillah ! " 
As the warring waters doused them. 
And splashed them and soused them ; 
And they called upon the prophet. 
And thought but little of it. 

Then all the fleas in Jewry 

Jumped up and bit like fury : 

And the progeny of Jacob 

Did on the main-deck wake up, 

(I wot those greasy Rabbins 

Would never pay for cabins ;) 

And each man moaned and jabbered in 

His filthy Jewish gabardine, 

In woe and lamentation. 

And howling consternation. 

And the splashing water drenches 

Their dirty brats and wenches ; 

And they crawl from bales and benches^ 

In a hundred thousand stenches. 

This was the white squall famous, 
Wbich latterly o'ercame us, 



ST. PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN. 



48S 



And whicli all will remember, 

On the 28th September : 

When a Prussian captain of Lancers 

(Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers) 

Came on the deck astonished, 

By that wild squall admonished. 

And wondering cried, " Potz tausend, 

Wie ist der Sturm jetzt brausend ? " 

And looked at captain Lewis, 

Who calmly stood and blew his 

Cigar in all the bustle. 

And scorned the tempest's tussle ; 

And oft we Ve thought thereafter 

How he beat the storm to laughter ; 

For well he knew his vessel 

With that vain wind could wrestle ; 

And when a wreck we thought her. 

And doomed ourselves to slaughter. 

How gaily he fought her. 

And through the hubbub brought her, 

And as the tempest caught her. 

Cried, " George, some brandy and water ! ' 

And when, its force expended, 
Tlie harmless storm was ended, 
And as the sunrise splendid 

Came blushing o'er the sea, — 
I thought, as day was breaking, 
My little girls were waking. 
And smiling, and making 

A prayer at home for me. 

William Makepeace Thackeray. 



8T. PATPJCK WAS A GENTLEMAN. 

Oh ! St. Patrick was a gentleman. 

Who came of decent people ; 
He built a church in Dublin town, 

And on it put a steeple. 
His father was a Gallagher ; 

His mother was a Brady ; 
His aunt was an O'Shaughnessy, 

His uncle an O'Grady. 
So^ success attend St. FatricFsJist^ 

For lie 's a saint so clever ; 
Oh ! he gave the snakes and toads a ticist^ 

And Itothercd them for ever ! 
59 



The Wicklow hills are very high, 

And so 's the Hill of Howth, sir ; 
But there 's a hill, much bigger still, 

Much higher nor them both, sir. 
'T was on the top of this high hill 

St. Patrick preached his sarmint 
That drove the frogs into the bogs, 

And banished all the varmint. 
So^ success attend St, Fatriclc'sjist^ 

For he '5 a saint so clever ; 
Oh I he gave the snaTces and toads a twisty 

And lothered them for ever ! 

There 's not a mile in Ireland's isle 

Where dirty varmin masters, 
But there he put his dear fore-foot, 

And murdered them in clusters. 
The toads went pop, the frogs went t op 

Slap-dash into the water ; 
And the snakes committed suicide 

To save themselves from slaughter. 
So^ success attend St, Fatriclc'sfist^ 

For he '5 a saint so clever ; 
Oh / he gave the snaJces and toads a twist, 

And bothered them for ever ! 

Nine hundred thousand reptiles bine 

He charmed with sweet discourses, 
And dined on them at Killaloe 

In soups and second courses. 
Where blind worms crawling in the grass 

Disgusted all the nation, 
He gave them a rise, which opened tlieii 
eyes 

To a sense of their situation. 
So^ success attend St. Fatriclc'sfi^t^ 

For he '5 a saint so clever ; 
Oh ! he gave the snakes and toads a twisty 

And "bothered them for ever ! 

Xo wonder that those Irish lads 

Should be so gay and frisky, 
For sure St. Pat he taught them tjiat, 

As well as making whiskey ; 
No wonder that the saint himself 

Should understand distilling. 
Since his mother kept a shebeen shop 

In the town of Enniskillen. 
So^ success attend St. Fatrickhjist^ 

For he '« a saint so clever ; 
Oh ! he gave the snakes and toads a twisU 

And bothered them for ever ! 



i34 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



Oh ! was I but so fortunate 

As to be back in Munster, 
'T is I -d be bound that from that ground 

I never more would once stir. 
For there St. Patrick planted turf, 

And plenty of the praties, 
With pigs galore, ma gra, ma 'store, 

And cabbages — and ladies ! 
Then my 'blessing on 8t. PatricTc^s fist^ 

For he '5 the darling saint oh I 
Oh ! he gave the snaTces and toads a twist; 

He''8 a 'heaxLty loithout paint oh! 

Henry Belxnett. 



ST. PATRICK OF IRELAND, MY DEAR! 

A FIG for St. Denis of France — 

He 's a trumper J feUow to brag on ; 
A fig for St. George and his lance, 

Which spitted a heathenish dragon ; 
And the saints of the Welshman or Scot 

Are a couple of pitiful pipers, 
Both of whom may just travel to pot. 

Compared with that patron of swipers — 
St. Patrick of Ireland, my dear ! 

He came to the Emerald Isle 

On a lump of a paving-stone mounted ; 
The steamboat he beat by a mile. 

Which mighty good sailing was counted. 
Says he, " The salt water, I think, 

Has made me most bloodily thirsty • 
So bring me a flagon of drink 

To keep down the mulligrubs, burst ye ' 
Of drink that is fit for a saint ! " 

Ee preached, then, with wonderful force, 

The ignorant natives a-teaching; 
With a pint he washed down his discourse, 

'* For," says he, " I detest your dry preach- 
ing." 
The people, with wonderment struck 

At a pastor so pious and civil, 
Exclaimed — "We 're for you, my old buck 1 

-And we pitch our blind gods to the devil, 
Who dwells in hot water below 1 " 



This ended, our worshipful spoon 

Went to visit an elegant fellow, 
Whose practice, each cool afternoon, 

Was to get most delightfully mellow. 
That day, with a black-jack of beer, 

It chanced he was treating a party ; 
Says the saint — " This good day, do you heai 

I drank nothing to speak of, my hearty I 
So give me a pull at the pot ! " 

The pewter he lifted in sport 

(Believe me, I tell you no fable) ; 
A gallon he drank from the quart. 

And then placed it full on the table. 
"A miracle! " every one said — 

And they all took a haul at the stingo ; 
They were capital hands at the trade. 

And drank till they fell ; yet, by jingo. 

The pot still frothed over the brim 

JSText day, quoth his host, '"T is a fast, 

And I Ve nought in my larder but mutton ; 
And on Fridays who 'd make such repast, 

Except an unchristian-like glutton ? " 
Says Pat, " Cease your nonsense, I beg — 

What you tell me is nothing but gammon 
Take my compliments down to the leg, 

And bid it come hither a salmon " 

And the leg most politely complied. 



You 've heard, I suppose, long ago. 

How the snakes, in a manner most antic, 
He marched to the county Mayo, 

And trundled them into th' Atlantic. 
Hence, not to use water for drink, 

The people of Ireland determine — 
With mighty good reason, I think, 

Since St. Patrick has filled it with vermia 
And vipers, and such other stuff! 



J 



Oh I he was an elegant blade 
As you 'd meet from Fairhead to Kilcrunr 
per; 
And though under the sod he is laid, 

Yet here goes his health in a bumper I 
I wish he w^as here, that my glass 

He might by art magic replenish , 
But since he is not — why, alas! 
My ditty must come to a finish, — 
Because all the liquor is out ! 

William Mag inn. 



THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 



435 



THE IRISHMAN. 



There was a lady lived at Leith, 

A lady very stylish, man — 
And yet, in spite of all her teeth. 
She fell in love with an Irishman — 
A nasty, ugly Irishman — 
A wild, tremendous Irishman — 
A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, 
ranting, roaring Irishman. 



His face was no ways beautiful. 

For with small-pox 'twas scarred across; 
And the shoulders of the ugly dog 
Were almost double a yard across. 
Oh, the lump of an Irishman — 
The whiskey devouring Irishman — 
The great he-rogue with his wonderful brogue 
— the fighting, rioting Irishman ! 

III. 

Ono of liis eyes was bottle green. 

And the other eye was out, my dear ; 
And the calves of his wicked-looking legs 
Were more than two feet about, my dear ! 
Oil, the great big Irishman — 
The rattling, battling Irishman — 
The stamping, ramping, swaggering, stagger- 
ing, leathering swash of an Irishman. 

IV. 

He took so much of Lundy-foot 

That he used to snort and snuffle oh ; 
And in shape and size the fellow's neck 
Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo. 
Oh, the horrible Irishman — 
The thundering, blundering Irishman — 
The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, 
thrashing, hashing Irishman. 



His name was a terrible name, indeed. 

Being Timothy Thady Mulligan ; 
And whenever he emptied his tumbler of 
punch 



He 'd not rest till he filled it full again ; 

The boozing, bruising Irishman — 

The 'toxicated Irishman — 
The whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, 
no dandy Irishman. 



This was the lad the lady loved. 

Like all the girls of quality ; 

And he broke the skulls of the men of 

Leith, 

Just by the way of jollity ; 

Oh, the leathering Irishman — 

The barbarous, savage Irishman — 

The hearts of the maids and the gentlemen's 

heads were bothered I'm sure by this 

Irishman. 

William Maginn. 



THE GROVES OF BLARIsTEY. 

The groves of Blarney they look so charming, 

Down by the purlings of sweet silent 
brooks — 
All decked by posies, that spontaneous grow 
there. 

Planted in order in the rocky nooks. 
'Tis there the daisy, and the sweet carnation, 

The blooming pink, and the rose so fair ; 
Likewise the lily, and the daffodilly — 

All flowers that scent the sweet, open air. 

'T is Lady Jeffers owns this plantation. 

Like Alexander, or like Helen fair ; 
There 's no commander in all the nation 

For regulation can with her compare. 
Such walls surround her, that no nine-pouudei 

Could ever plunder her place of strength ; 
But Oliver Cromwell, he did her pommel, 

And made a breach in her battlement 

There 's gravel walks there for speculation, 

And conversation in sweet solitude ; 
'Tis there the lover may hear the dove, or 

The gentle plover, in the afternoon. 
And if a young lady should be so engaging 

As to walk alone in those shady bowers, 
'T is there her courtier he may transport hei 

In some dark fort, or under the ground. 



486 



POEMS OF COMEDY 



For 'tis there's the cave where no daylight 
enters, 

But bats and badgers are for ever bred ; 
Being mossed by natur', that makes it sweeter 

Than a coach and six, or a feather bed. 
'Tis there 's the lake that is stored vrith 
perches, 

And comely eels in the verdant mud ; 
Besides the leeches, and the groves of beeches. 

All standing in order for to guard the flood. 

'T is there 's the kitchen hangs many a flitch 
in. 

With the maids a-stitching upon the stair ; 
The bread and biske', the beer and whiskey, 

Would make you frisky if you were there. 
'T is there you 'd see Peg Murphy's daughter 

A washing praties forenent the door. 
With Eoger Oleary, and Father Healy, 

All blood relations to my Lord Donough- 
more. 

There 's statues graciug this noble place in. 

All heathen goddesses so fair — 
Bold Neptune, Plutarch, and Nicodemus, 

All standing naked in the open air. 
So now to finish this brave narration. 

Which my poor geni' could not entwine ; 
But were I Homer, or Nebuchadnezzar, 

'T is in every feature I would make it shine. 
RiGHAHD Alfred Millikin. 



THE BATTLE OF LBIERICK. 

Ye genii of the nation, 

Who look with veneration. 
And Ireland's desolation onsay singly deplore. 

Ye sons of Gineral Jackson, 

Who thrample on the Saxon, 
Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon 
shore. 

When William, Duke of Schumbug, 
A tyrant and a humbug. 
With cannon and with thunder on our city 
bore. 
Our fortitude and valliance- 
Insthructed his battalions, 
To rispict the galliant Irish upon Shannon 
shore. 



Since that capitulation, 

No city in the nation 
So grand a reputation could boast before, 

As Limerick prodigious. 

That stands with quays and bridges, 
And ships up to the windies of the Shannon 
shore. 

A chief of ancient line, 
'T is WiUiam Smith O'Brine, 
Reprisints this darling Limerick this ten yeara 
or more ; 
Oh the Saxons can't endure 
To see him on the flure. 
And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon 
shore ! 

This valiant son of Mars 

Had been to visit Par's, 
That land of revolution, that grows the tri- 
color ; 

And to welcome his return 

From pilgrimages furren. 
We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore<i 

Then we summoned to our board 
Young Meagher of the sword ; 
'T is he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon 
gore ; 
And Mitchil of Belfast 
We bade to our repast. 
To dthrink a dish of cofiee on the Shannon 
shore. 

Convaniently to hould 
The?e patriots so bould, 
We took the opportunity of Tim Doolan'a 
store ; 
And with ornamints and banners 
(As becomes gintale good manners) 
We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon 
shore. 

'T would binifit your sowls 

To see the butthered rowls, 
The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craira 
galyore. 

And the muffins and the crumpets. 

And the band of harps and thrum j)ets, 
To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore. 



I 



fiC. 



THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. 



437 



Sure the imperor of Bohay 
"Would be proud to dthrink the tay 
That Misthress Biddy Rooneyfor O'Brine did 
pour; 
And, since the days of Strongbow, 
There never was such Congo — 
&litchil dthrank six quarts of it — ^by Shannon 
shore. 

But Clarndon and Corry 
Connellan beheld this sworry 
With rage and imulation in their black hearts' 
core ; 
And they hired a gang of ruffins 
To interrupt the muffins, 
And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shan- 
non shore. 

"When full of tay and cake, 

O'Brine began to spake, 
But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden 
roar 

Of a ragamuffin rout 

Began to yell and shout, 
And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore. 

As Smith O'Brine harangued, 
They batthered and they banged ; 
Tim Doolan's doors and windies down they 
tore ; 
They smashed the lovely windies 
(Hung with muslin from the Indies), 
Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon 
shore. 

With throwing of brickbats, 
Drowned puppies and dead rats. 

These ruffin democrats themselves did lower ; 
Tin kettles, rotten eggs. 
Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs, 

They flung among the patriots of Shannon 
shore. 

Oil, the girls began to scrame. 
And upset the milk and crame ; 
And the honorable jintlemin they cursed and 
swore : 
And Mitchil of Belfast, 
'T was he that looked aghast, 
Wlien they roasted him in effigy by Shannon 
shore. 



Oh, the lovely tay was spilt 
On that day of Ireland's guilt; 
Says Jack Mitchil, " I am kilt ! Boys, where 's 
the back door ? 
'T is a national disgrace ; 
Let me go and veil me face ! " 
And he boulted with quick pace from th 
Shannon shore. 

"Cut down the bloody horde ! " 
Says Meagher of the sword, 
"This conduct would disgrace any blacka- 
moor ; " 
But millions were arrayed. 
So he shaythed his battle-blade, 
Eethrayting undismayed from the Shannon 
shore. 

Immortal Smith O'Brine 
Was raging like a line ; 
'T would have done your sowl good to have 
heard him roar ; 
In his glory he arose, 
And he rushed upon his foes, 
But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon 
shore. 

Then the futt and the dthragoons 

In squadthrons and platoons. 
With their music playing chunes, down upon 
us bore ; 

And they bate the rattatoo. 

And the Peelers came in view, 
And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shoro, 

William Makepeace Thaokehay. 



MOLONY'S LAMENT. 

Tim, did you hear of thim Saxons, 

And read what the peepers repoort ? 
They 're goau to rccal the liftinant, 

And shut up the castle and coort! 
Our desolate counthry of Oireland 

They 're bint, the blagyards, to de^throy • 
And now, having raurdthered our counthry 

They 're goin to kill the viceroy, 
Dear boy I — 

'T was he was our proide and our joy. 



138 



POEMS or COMEDY. 



And will we no longer behould Mm, 

Surrounding his carriage in throngs, 
As he weaves his cocked hat from the win- 
dxcs, 

And smiles to his bould aid-de-congs ? 
I liked for to see the young haroes, 

All shoining with sthripes and with stars, 
A horsing about in the Phaynix, 

And winking the girls in the cyars — 
Like Mars, 

A smokin' their poipes and cigyars, 

Dear Mitchel, exoiled to Bermudies, 

Your beautiful oilids you'll ope! — 
And there '11 be an abondance of croyin 

From O'Brine at the Keep of Good Hope — 
When they read of this news in the peepers, 

Acrass the Atlantical wave. 
That the last of the Oirish liftinants 

Of the oisland of Seents has tuck lave. 
God save 

The queen — she should betther behave ! 

xYnd what 's to become of poor Dame sthreet. 

And who '11 ait the puffs and the tarts, 
Whin the coort of imparial splindor 

From Doblin's sad city departs ? 
And who '11 have the fiddlers and pipers 

When the deuce of a coort there remains ; 
And where '11 be the bucks and the ladies. 

To hire the coort-shuits and the thrains ? 
In sthrains 

It's thus that ould Erin complains! 

There 's Counsellor Flanagan's leedy, 

'T was she in the coort didn't fail, 
And she wanted a plinty of popplin 

For her d+hress, and her flounce, and her 
tail; 
She bought it of Misthress O'Grady — 

Eight shillings a yard tabinet — 
But now that the coort is concluded 

The divvle a yard will she gei : 
I bet, 

Bedad, that she wears the old set. 

There 's Surgeon O'Toole and Miss Leary, 
They 'd daylings at Madam O'Riggs' ; 

Each year, at the dthrawing-room sayson. 
They mounted the n at est of wigs. 



When spring, with its buds and its daisies, 
Comes out in her beauty and bloom, 

Thim tu 'U never think of new jasies, 
Because there is no dthrawing-room. 

For whom 
They 'd choose the expense to ashume. 

There 's Alderman Toad and his lady, 

'T was they gave the clart and the poort, 
And the poine-apples, turbots, and lobsters. 

To feast the lord liftinant's coort. 
But now that the quality 's goin, 

I warnt that the aiting will stop, 
And you '11 get at the alderman's teeble 

The divvle a bite or a dthrop. 
Or chop, 

And the butcher may shut up his shop. 

Y"es, the grooms and the ushers are goin ; 

And his lordship, the dear, honest man : 
And the duchess, his eemiable leedy ; 

And Corry, the bould Connellan ; 
And little Lord Hyde and the childthren ; 

And the chewter and governess tu ; 
And the servants are packing their boxes — 

Oh, murther, but what shall I due 
Without you? 

Meery, with ois of the blue ! 

William Makepeace Thackekay. 



MR. 



MOLONY'S ACCOUJSTT 
BALL 



OF THE 



GIVEN TO THE NEPACTLESE AMBASSADOR BY THB 
PENINSULAR AND ORIENTAL COMPANY. 

Oh will ye choose to hear the news ? 

Bedad, I cannot pass it o'er : 
I '11 tell you all about the ball 

To the Naypaulase ambassador. 
Begor ! this fete all balls does bate 

At which I worn a pump, and I 
Must here relate the splendthor great 

Of th' Oriental company. 

These men of sinse dispoised expinse, 

To fete these black Achilleses. 
''We'll shew the blacks," says tney, "AI- 
mack's. 

And take the rooms at Willis's," 



THE RAIL. 



43S 



With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls, 

They hung the rooms of Willis up, 
And decked the walls, and stairs, and halls, 

With roses and with lilies up. 
And Jullien's band it tuck its stand. 

So sweetly in the middle there, 
And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes, 

And viohns did fiddle there. 
And when the coort was tired of spoort, 

I 'd lave you, boys, to think there was 
A nate buffet before them set. 

Where lashins of good dhrink there was ! 

At ten, before the ball-room door 

His moighty excellency was ; 
He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd — 

So gorgeous and immense he was. 
His dusky shuit, sublime and mute, 

Into the door-way followed him ; 
And oh the noise of the blackguard boys, 

As they hurrood and hollowed him ! 

The noble chair stud at the stair. 

And bade the dthrums to thump ; and he 
Did thus evince to that black prince 

The welcome of his company. 
Oh fair the girls, and rich the curls, 

And bright the oys you saw there, was ; 
And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi, 

On Gineral Jung Bahawther was ! 

This gineral great then tuck his sate, 

With all the other ginerals, 
(Bedad, his troat, his belt, his coat. 

All bleezed with precious minerals;) 
And as he there, with princely air, 

Becloinin on his cushion was. 
All round about his royal chair 

The squeezin and the pushin was. 

C Pat, such girls, such jukes and earls, 

Such fashion and nobilitee ! 
/asl think of Tim, and fancy him 

Amidst the hoigh gentility ! 
rbere was Lord De L'Huys, and the Porty- 
geese 

Ministher and his lady there ; 
And I reckonized, with much surprise, 

Our messmate, Bob O^Grady, there. 



There was Baroness Brunow, that looke<l 
like Juno, 

And Baroness Kehausen there, 
And Countess Roullier, that looked pecuhar 

Well in her robes of gauze, in there. 
There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first 

When only Mr. Pips he was). 
And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool. 

That after supper tipsy was. 

There was Lord Fingall and his ladies all, 

And Lords Killeen and Dufferin, 
And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife— 

I wondther how he could stuff her in. 
There was Lord Belfast, that by me past, 

And seemed to ask how should /go there; 
And the widow Macrae, and Lord A. Hay, 

And the marchioness of Sligo there. 

Yes, jukes and earls, and diamonds and pearls 

And pretty girls, was spoorting there ; 
And some beside (the rogues !) I spied 

Behind the windies, coorting there. 
Oh, there 's one I know, bedad, would show 

As beautiful as any there ; 
And I 'd like to hear the pipers blow. 

And shake a fut with Fanny there I 

William Makepeace THAOKEBAif. 



THE RAIL. 

I MET him in the cars. 
Where resignedly he sat ; 

His hair was fall of dust^ 
And so was his cravat ; 

He was furthermore embelhshed 
By a ticket in his hat. 

The conductor touched his arm, 
And awoke him from a nap ; 

When he gave the feeding flies 
An admonitory slap, 

And bis ticket to the man 
In the yellow-lettered cap. 

So, launching into talk. 
We rattled on our way. 

With allusions to the crops 
That along the meadows lay- - 

Whereupon his eyes were lit 
With a speculative ray. 



440 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



The heads of many men 
Were hobbing as in sleep, 

And many babies lifted 
Their voices up to weep ; 

While the coal-dust darkly fell 
On bonnets in a heap. 

All the while the swaying cars 
Kept rumbling o'er the rail, 

And the frequent whistle sent 
Shrieks of anguish to the gale, 

And the cinders pattered down 
On the grimy floor like hail. 

When suddenly a jar, 

And a thrice-repeated bump. 
Made the people in alarm 

From their easy cushions jump ; 
For they deemed the sounds to be 

The inevitable trump. 

A splintering crash below, 
A doom-foreboding twitch. 

As the tender gave a lurch 
Beyond the flying switch — 

And a mangled mass of men 
Lay writhing in the ditch. 

With a palpitating heart 
My friend essayed to rise ; 

There were bruises on his limbs 
And stars before his eyes, 

And his face was of the hue 
Of the dolphin when it dies. 



I was very well content 

In escaping with my life ; 
But my mutilated friend 

Commenced a legal strife- 
Being thereunto incited 
By his lawyer and his wife. 

And he writes me the result, 
In his quiet way as follows : 

That his case came up before 
A bench of legal scholars, 

Who awarded him his claim. 
Of $1500 ! 

George H. Clark. 



ST. ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE 
FISHES. 

St. Anthony at church 
Was left in the lurch. 
So he went to the ditches 
And preached to the fishes ; 
They wriggled their tails, 
In the sun glanced their scales. 

The carps, with their spawn, 

Are aU hither drawn ; 

Have opened their jaws. 

Eager for each clause. 
No sermon beside 
Had the carps so edified. 

Sharp-snouted pikes, 
Who keep fighting like tikes, 
Now swam up harmonious 
To hear St. Antonius. 
No sermon beside 
Had the pikes so edified. 

And that very odd fish. 

Who loves fast days, the cod-fish,— 

The stock-fish, I mean, — 

At the sermon was seen. 
No sermon beside 
Had the cods so edified. 

Good eels and sturgeon. 
Which aldermen gorge on, 
Went out of their way 
To hear preaching that day. 
No sermon beside 
Had the eels so edified. 

Crabs and turtles also, 
Who always move slow. 
Made haste from the bottom 
As if the devil had got 'em. 
No sermon beside 
Had the crabs so edified. 

Fish great and fish small, 
Lords, lackeys, and all, 
Each looked at the preacher, 
Like a reasonable creature : 
At God's word. 
They Anthony heard. 



THE YICAR OF BKAY. 



441 



The sermon now ended, 

Each turned and descended ; 

The pikes went on stealing, 

The eels went on eeling ; 

Much delighted were they, 
But preferred the old way. 

The crabs are backsliders, 

The stock-fish thick-siders, 

The carps are sharp-set, 

All the sermon forget ; 

Much delighted were they, 
But preferred the old way. 

Anonymous. 



THE YIOAR OF BRAY. 

In good King Charles's golden days, 

When loyalty no harm meant, 
A zealous high-churchman was I, 

And so I got preferment. 
To teach my flock I never missed : 

Kings were by God appointed, 
And lost are those that dare resist 
Or touch the Lord's anointed. 
And this is law that I HI maintain 

Until my dying day^ sir, 
That whatsoever Mug shall reign, 
Still IHl'be the vicar of Bray, sir. 

When royal James possessed the crown, 

And popery grew in fashion, 
The penal laws I hooted down, 

And read the declaration ; 
The Church of Eome I found would fit 

Full well my constitution ; 
And I had been a Jesuit, 
But for the revolution. 
And this is law that I HI maintain 

Until my dying day, sir. 
That whatsoever hing shall reign. 
Still IHlle the vicar of Bray, sir. 

When William was our king declared 
To ease the nation's grievance ; 

With this new wind about I steered, 
And swore to him allegiance ; 

Old principles I did revoke, 
Set conscience at a distance ; 



Passive obedience was a joke, 
A jest was non-resistance. 

And this is law that I HI maintain 

Until my dying day, sir, 
TJiat whatsoever Tcing shall reign^ 
Still I HI he the vicar of Bray, sir. 

When royal Anne became our queen. 

The church of England's glory. 
Another face of things was seen 

Ajid I became a tory ; 
Occasional conformists base, 

I blam'd their moderation ; 
And thought the church in danger was, 
By such prevarication. 
And this is law that IHl maintain^ 

Until my dying day, sir. 
That whatsoever Tcing shall reign^ 
Still I HI be the vicar of Bray, sir. 

When George in pudding-time came o'er, 

And moderate men looked big, sir, 
My principles I changed once more, 

And so became a whig, sir ; 
And thus preferment I procured 

From our new faith's defender ; 
And almost every day abjured 
The pope and the pretender. 

And this is law that IHl maintain^ 

Until my dyvng day, sir. 
That whatsoever Icing shall reign, 
Still IHl be the vicar of Bray, air. 

Th' illustrious house of Hanover, 

And Protestant succession. 
To these I do allegiance swear — 

While they can keep possession : 
For in my faith and loyalty 
I never more will falter, 
And George my lawful king shall be — 
Until the times do alter. 
And this is law that IHl maintain 

Until my dying day, sir, 
That whatsoever king shall reign, 
Still IHl he tJie vicar of Bray, sir. 
Anonymoud. 



442 



POEMS or COMEDY. 



THE YIOAR. 

Some years ago, ere tiirte and taste 

Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, 
When Darnel park was Darnel waste, 

And roads as little known as scurvy, 
The man who lost his way between 

St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket 
Was always shown across the green, 

And guided to the parson's wicket. 

Back flew the bolt of lissom lath; 

Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle. 
Led the lorn traveller up the path, 

Thi'ough clean-clipt rows of box and myrtle ; 
And Don, and Sancho, Tramp and Tray, 

Upon the parlor steps collected, 
Wagged all their tails, and seemed to say, 

" Our master knows you ; you 're expected." 

Up rose the reverend Doctor Brown, 

Up rose the doctor's " winsome marrow;" 
The lady laid her knitting down, 

Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow. 
Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed. 

Pundit or papist, saint or sinner. 
He found a stable for his steed, 

And welcome for himself, and dinner. 

If, when he reached his journey's end. 

And warmed himself in court or college. 
He had not gained an honest friend. 

And twenty curious scraps of knowledge ; 
If he departed as he came, 

With no new light on love or liquor. 
Good sooth, the traveller was to blame. 

And not the vicarage or the vicar. 

His talk was like a stream which runs 

With rapid change from rocks to roses ; 
It shpped from politics to puns ; 

It passed trom Mahomet to Moses ; 
Beginning with the laws which keep 

Tlie planets in their radiant courses. 
And ending with some precept deep 

For dressing eels or shoeing horses. 

He was a shrewd and sound divine. 
Of loud dissent the mortal terror ; 

And when, by dint of page and line, 
He 'stablished truth or startled error. 



The Baptist found him far too deep, 
The Deist sighed with saving sorrow. 

And the lean Levite went to sleep 
And di'eamt of eating pork to-morrow. 

His sermon never said or showed 

That earth is foul, that heaven is graciouti, 
Without refreshment on the road, 

From Jerome or from Athanasius ; 
And sure a righteous zeal inspired 

The hand and head that penned and plaimed 
them. 
For all who understood admired, 

And some who did not understand them* 

He wrote too, in a quiet way, 

SmaU treatises, and smaller verses, 
And sage remarks on chalk and clay, 

And hints to noble lords and nurses ; 
True histories of last year's ghost; 

Lines to a*ringlet or a turban ; 
And trifles for the " Morning Post ; " 

And nothings for Sylvanus Urban, 

He did not think all mischief fair. 

Although he had a knack of joking; 
He did not make himself a bear, 

Although he had a taste for smoking ; 
And when religious sects ran mad. 

He held, in spite of all his learning. 
That if a man's belief is bad. 

It will not be improved by burning. 

x\nd he was kind, and loved to sit 

In the low hut or garnished cottage. 
And praise the fai'mer's homely wit. 

And share the widow's homelier pottage 
At his approach complaint grew mild, 

And when his hand unbarred the shutter 
The clammy lips of fever smiled 

The welcome that they could not utter. 



He always had a tale for me 

Of Julius Csesar or of Yenus; 
From him I learned the rule of three, 

Cat's-cradle, leap-frog, and Qum genvs. 
I used to singe his powdered wig. 

To steal the staff he put such trust in„ 
And make the puppy dance a jig 

When he began to quote Augustine. 



i 



ii 



TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE. 



443 



Alack, the change ! In vain I look 

For haunts in which my boyhood trifled ; 
The level lawn, the trickling brook. 

The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled ! 
The church is larger than before. 

You reach it by a carriage entry ; 
It holds three hundred people more. 

And pews are fitted for the gentry. 

Sit in the vicar's seat ; you '11 hear 

The doctrine of a gentle Johnian, 
Whose hand is white, whose voice is clear, 

Whose tone is very Ciceronian. 
Where is the old man laid ? Look down 

And construe on the slab before you— 
^^Hicjacet Gulielmus Brown^ 

Vir nulla non donandus lauro.''^ 

WiNTHEOP MaCKWOETH PeAED. 



rWElSTTY-EIGHT A^^D TWENTY-NINE. 

I HEAED a sick man's dying sigh, 

And an infant's idle laughter : 
The old year went witli mourning by — 

The new came dancing after ! 
Let sorrow shed her lonely tear — 

Let revelry hold her ladle ; 
Bring boughs of cypress for the bior — 

Fling roses on the cradle ; 
Mutes to wait on the funeral stiite, 

Pages to pour the wine : 
A requiem for twenty-eight, 

And a health to twenty-nine ! 

Alas for human happmess! 

Alas for human sorrow ! 
Our yesterday is nothingness — 

What else will be our morrow ? 
Still beauty must be stealing hearts. 

And knavery stealing purses; 
Still cooks must live by making tarts, 

And wits by making verses ; 
While sages prate, and courts debate, 

The same stars set and shine ; 
And the world, as it rolled through twen- 
ty-eight, 

Must roll through twenty-nine. 

Some king will come, in Heaven's good 
time. 
To the torab his father came to ; 



Some thief wiU wade through blood and 
crime 

To a crown he has no claim to ; 
Some sufiering land wiU rend in twain 

The manacles that bound her, 
And gather the links of the broken chain 

To fasten them proudly round her ; 
The grand and great will love and hate, 

And combat and combine ; 
And much where we were in twenty-eight, 

We shall be in twenty-nine. 

O'Oonnell wiU toil to raise the rent, 

And Kenyon to sink the nation ; 
And Shiel will abuse the Parhament, 

And Peel the association ; 
xind thought of bayonets and swords 

Will make ex-chancellors merry ; 
And jokes will be cut in the house of 
lords. 

And throats in the county of Kerry ; 
And writers of weight will speculate 

On the cabinet's design ; 
And just what it did in twenty-eight 

It will do in twenty-nine. 

And the goddess of Iotc vill keep her 
smiles. 

And the god of cups his orgies ; 
And there '11 be riots in St. Giles, 

And weddings in St. George's : 
And mendicants will sup like kings, 

And lords will swear like lacqueys; 
And black eyes ott will lead to rings, 

And rings will lead to black eyes ; 
And pretty Kate will scold her mate, 

In a dialect all divine ; 
Alas ! they married in twenty-eight, 

They will part in twenty-nine. 

My uncle will swathe his gouty limbs, 

And talk of his oils and blubbers ; 
My aunt. Miss Dobbs, will play louifei 
hymns. 

And rather longer rubbers : 
My cousin in Parhament will prove 

How utterly ruined trade is ; 
^ly brother, at Eton, will fall in love 

With half a hundred ladies : 



144 



POEMS OF COMEDi. 



My patron will sate his pride from plate, 
And Ms tliirst from Bordeaux wine — 

His nose was red in twenty-eight, 
' T will be redder in twenty-nine. 

And oh ! I shall find how, day by day, 
All thoughts and things look older — 

How the laugh of pleasure grows less gay, 
And the heart of friendship colder ; 



But still I shall be what I have been, 

Sworn foe to Lady Reason, 
And seldom troubled with the spleen, 

And fond of talking treason ; 
I shall buckle my skate, and leap ray gate, 

And throw and write my line ; 
And the woman I worshipped in twenty- 
eight 

I shall worship in twenty-nine. 

WrSTHROP Mackwoeth Praed. 



PART VIL 

POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW, 



The mournful funeral slow proceeds behind, 
Arrayed in black, the heavy head declined ; 
Wide yawns the grave ; dull tolls the solemn bell ; 
Dark lie the dead ; and long the last farewell. 
There music sounds, and dancers shake the hall ; 
But here the silent tears incessant fall. 
Ere Mirth can well her comedy begin, 
The tragic demon oft comes thundering in, 
Confounds the actors, damps the merry show, 
ArA turns the loudest laugh to deepest woe. 

John WiLSoii. 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



SIR PATRICK SPENS. 

TiiK king sits in Dunfermline town, 

Drinking the blude-red wine : 
" Oh where will I get a skeely skipper 
To sail this new ship of mine ? " 

Oil up and spake an eldern knight, 

Sat at the king's right knee : 
''Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor 

That ever sailed the sea." 

Oui king has written a braid letter, 

And sealed it with his hand, 
A nd sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, 

AYas walking on the strand. 

•' To Koroway, to Noroway, 

To Noroway o'er the faem ; , 

Tlie king's daughter of Noroway, 

'T is thou maun bring her hame !" 

Tne first word thai Sii Patrick read, 

Sae loud, loud laughed he ; 
The neist word that Sir Patrick read, 

The tear blindit his e'e. 

" Oh wha is this has done this deed. 

And tauld the king o' me. 
To send us out at this time of the year. 

To sail upon the sea ? 

" Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it 
sleet, 

Our ship must sail the faem ; 
The king's daughter of Noroway, 

'T is we must fetch lier hame." 



They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn 

Wi' a' the speed they may ; 
They hae landed in Noroway 

Upon a Wodensday. 

They hadna been a week, a week 

In l^oroway, but twae, 
"When that the lords o' Noroway 

Began aloud to say : 

" Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd 

And a' our queenis fee." 
" Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud ! 

Fu' loud I hear ye lie ! 

''For I hae brought as much white monie 

As gane my men and me, — 
And I hae brought a half-fou o' gude red 
gowd 

Out owre the sea wi' me. 

"Make ready, make ready, my merry 
men a' ! 

Our gude ship sails tlie morn." 
" Now, ever alake I my master dear, 

I fear a deadly storm I 

"I saw the new moon, late yestreen, 
Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; 

And if we gang to sea, master, 
I fear we '11 come to harm." 

They hadna sailed a league, a league, 

A league, but barely three. 
When the lift grew dark, and tlie wind 
blew loud, 

And gurly grew the sea. 



448 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, 

It was sic a deadly storm ; 
And the waves came o'er the broken ship 

Till a' her sides were torn. 

-' Oh where will I get a gude sailor 

To take my helm in hand, 
Till I get up to the tall topmast 

To see if I can spy land ? " 

" Oh here am I, a sailor gude, 

To take the helm in hand. 
Till you go up to the tall topmast, — 

But I fear you '11 ne'er spy land." 

He hadna gane a step, a step, 

A step, but barely ane, 
When a boult flew out of our goodly ship, 

And the salt sea it came in. 

" Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, 

Another o' the twine. 
And wap them into our ship's side. 

And letna the sea come in." 

They fetched a web o' the silken claith, 

Another o' the twine. 
And they wapped them roun' that gude 
ship's side, 

— ^But still the sea came in. 

Oh laith, laith were our gude Scots lords 
To weet their cork-heeled slioon ! 

But lang or a' the play was played. 
They wat their hats aboon. 

And mony was the feather-bed 

That floated on the faem ; 
And mony was the gude lord's son 

That never mair came hame. 

The ladyes wrang their fingers white, — 

The maidens tore their hair ; 
A' for the sake of their true loves. — 

For them they '11 see na mair. 

Oh lang, lang may the ladyes sit, 
Wi' their fans into their hand. 

Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
Come sailing to the strand ! 



And lang lang may the maidens sit, 
Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair, 

A' waiting for their ain dear loves, — 
For them they '11 see na mair. 

Oh forty miles off Aberdour 

'T is fifty fathoms deep. 
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens 

W*' the Scots lords at his feet. 

Anonymoits. 



CHILD NOEYCE. 

Child IiToeyce is a clever young man — 

He wavers wi' the wind ; 
His horse was silver shod before, 

With the beaten gold behind. 

He called to his little man John, 
Saying, " You don't see what I see ; 

For oh yonder I see the very first woman 
That ever loved me. 

" Here is a glove, a glove," he said, 

" Lined with the silver gray ; 
You may tell her to come to the merrj 
green wood, 

To speak to child ITory. 

" Here is a ring, a ring," he says, 

" It 's all gold but the stane ; 
You may tell her to come to the merry 
green wood. 

And ask the leave o' nane." 

" So well do I love your errand, my master, 
But far better do I love my life ; 

Oh would ye have me go to Lord Barnard'e 
castel. 
To betray away his wife ? " 

"Oh do n't I give you meat," he says, 

" And do n't I pay you fee ? 
How dare you stop my errand ? " he says ; - 

"My orders you must obey." I 

Oh when he came to Lord Barnard's caste], 

He tinkled at the ring ; 
Who was as ready as Lord Barnard himself ■ 

To let this little boy in ? || 



FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN. 



449 



" Here is a glove, a glove," he says, 

" Lined with the silver gray ; 
You are bidden to come to the merry green 
Tvood, 

To speak to Child Nory. 

'• Here is a ring, a ring," he says, 

** It 's all gold but the stane : 
You are bidden to come to the merry green 
wood, 

And ask the leave o' nane." 

Lord Barnai'd he vras standing by, 

Ajid an angry man was he : 
'* Oh little did I think there was a lord in 
this world 

My lady loved but me ! " 

Oh he dressed himself in the Holland smocks. 

And garments that was gay ; 
And he is away to the merry green wood. 

To speak to Child Nory. 

Child Koryce sits on yonder tree — 

He whistles and he sings : 
•' Oh wae be to me," says Child ]!Toryce, 

^^ Yonder my mother comes ! " 

Chil 1 Noryce he came off the tree, 
His mother to take off the horse : 

^' Och alace, alace!"says Child Noryce, 
" My mother was ne'er so gross." 

Lord Barnard he had a little small sword. 
That hung low down by his knee ; 

He cut the head off Child Noryce, 
And put the body on a tree. 

And when he came to his castel. 

And to his lady's hall, 
He threw the head into her lap, 

Saying, " Lady, there is a ball ! ' 

She turned up the bloody head. 
She kissed it frae cheek to chin : 

** Far better do I love this bloody head 
Than all my royal kin. 

" When I was in my father's castel, 

In my virginitie. 
There came a lord into the north, 

Gat Child Noryce with me." 
01 



" Oh wae be to thee, Lady Margaret," he 
said, 
" And an ill death may you die ; 
For if you had told me he was your son, 
He had ne'er been slain by me." 

Ai^ONYMora 



FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN. 

'^ On wha will shoe my fair foot, 
And wha will glove my han' ? 

And wha will lace my middle jimp 
Wi' a new made London ban' ? 

" Or wha will kemb my yellow hair 
Wi' a new-made silver kemb ? 

Or wha '11 be father to my young bairn, 
Till love Gregor come hame ? " 

" Your father '11 shoe your fair foot, 
Your mother glove your ban' ; 

Your sister lace your middle jimp 
Wi' a new-made London ban' ; 

" Your brethren will kemb your yellow hail 

Wi' a new made silver kemb ; 
And the king o' heaven will father yoni 
bairn. 

Till love Gregor come hame." 

'' Oh gin I had a bonny ship, 

And men to sail wi' me, 
It 's I wad gang to my true love, 

Sin he winna come to me ! " 

Her father 's gien her a bonny ship. 

And sent her to the stran' ; 
She 's taen her young son in her arms, 

And turned her back to the Ian.' 

She hadna been o' the sea sailin' 

About a month or more. 
Till landed has she her bonny ship 

Near her true-love's door. 

The nicht was dark, and the wind blew oald 

And her love was fast asleep. 
And the bairn that was in her twa arms 

Fu' pair began to greet. 



t&O 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Lang stood she at her true love's door, 

And lang tirled at the pin ; 
At length up gat his fause mother, 

Says, " Wha 's that wad be in? " 

" Oh it is Annie of Lochrojan, 

Your love, come o'er the sea. 
But and your young son in her arms ; 

So open the door to me." 

" Awa, awa, ye ill woman ! 

You 're nae come here for gude ; 
You 're but a witch, or a vile warlock, 

Or mermaid o' the flude." 

" I 'm nae a witch or vile warlock, 

Or mermaiden," said she ; — 
"I 'm but your Annie of Lochuoyan ; — 

Oh open the door to me ! " 

^* Oh gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan, 

As I trust not ye be. 
What taiken can ye gie that e'er 

I kept your companie ? " 

'^ Oh dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says, 

'• Whan we sat at the wine, 
Elow we changed the napkins frae our 
necks ? 

It 's nae sae lang sinsyne. 

" And yours was gude, and gude enough, 

But nae sae gude as mine ; 
For yours was o' the cambrick clear. 

But mine o' the silk sae fine. 

*' And dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she 
says, 

" As we twa sat at dine. 
How we changed the rings frae our fingers, 

And I can shew thee thine : 

''• And yours was gude, and gude enough, 

Y^et nae sae gude as mine ; 
For yours was o' the gude red gold. 

But mine o' the diamonds fine. 

" Sae open the door, now, love Gregor, 

And open it wi' speed ; 
Or your young son, that is in my arms. 

For cald will soon be dead." 



" Awa, awa, ye ill woman ! 

Gae frae my door for shame ; 
For I hae gotten anither fair love— 

Sae ye may hie you hame." 

''Oh hae ye gotten anither fair love. 

For a' the oaths ye sware ? 
Then fare ye weel, now, fause Gregor 

For me ye's never see mair ! '' 

Oh hooly, hooly gaed she back, 

As the day began to peep ; 
She set her foot on good ship board, 

And sair, sair did she weep. 

" Tak down, tak down the mast o' goud ; 

Set up the mast o' tree ; 
111 sets it a forsaken lady 

To sail sae gallantlie. 

"Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk; 

Set up the sails o' skin ; 
111 sets the outside to be gay, 

Whan there 's sic grief within ! " 

Love Gregor started frae his sleep, 

And to his mother did say : 
" I dreamt a dream this night, mither, 

That maks my heart richt wae ; 

" I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan, 

The flower o' a' her kin. 
Was Stan din' mournin' at my door ; 

But nane wad lat her in." 

" Oh there was a woman stood at the door, 
Wi' a bairn intill her arms ; 
But I wadna let her within the bower, 
For fear she had done you harm." 

Oh quickly, quickly raise he up, 

And fast ran to the strand ; 
And there he saw her, fair Annie, 

Was sailing frae the land. 

And "heigh, Annie! " and "how, Annie 

0, Annie, winna ye bide ? " 
But ay the louder that he cried " Annie,' 

The higher raired the tide. 

And "heigh, Annie! " and "how, Annie 1 
0, Annie, speak to me ! " I 

But ay the louder that he cried '' Annie, ^ 
The louder raired the sea. 



I 



THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 



451 



The wind grew loud, and the sea grew 
rough, 

And the ship was rent in twain ; 
And soon he saw her, fair Annie, 

Oome floating o'er the main. 

He saw his young son in her arms, 

Baith tossed aboon the tide ; 
He wrang his hands, and fast he ran, 

And plunged in the sea sae wide. 

He catched her by the yellow hair, 

And drew her to the strand ; 
But cald and stiff was every limb. 

Before he reached the land. 

Oh first he kist her cherry cheek, 

And syne he kist her chin : 
And sair he kist her ruby lips. 

But there was nae breath within. 

Oh he has mourned o'er fair Annie, 
Till the sun was ganging down ; 

Syne wi' a sich his heart it brast, 
And his saul to heaven has flown. 

Anonymous. 



THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 

Late at e'en, drinking the wine, 
And ere they paid the lavving. 

They set a combat them between. 
To fight it in the dawing. 

" Oh stay at hamc, my noble lord ! 

Oh stay at hame, my marrow ! 
My cruel brother will you betray 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow." 

" Oh fare ye weel, my ladye gaye ! 

Oh fare ye weel, my Sarah ! 
For I maun gae, though I ne'er return 

Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow." 

t*he kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair, 
As oft she had done before, oh ; 

She belted hini with his noble brand, 
And he 's away to Yarrow. 



As he gaed up the Tennies bank, 

I wot he gaed wi' sorrow. 
Till, down in a den, he spied nine armed 
men, 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 

'' Oh come ye here to part your land, 

The bonnie forest thorough ? 
Or come ye here to wield your brand, 

On the dowie houms of Yarrow ? " — 

" I come not here to part my laud. 
And neither to beg nor borrow ; 

I come to wield my noble brand. 
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow. 

" If I see all, ye 're nine to ane ; 

And that 's an unequal marrow : 
Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand, 

On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." 

Four has he hurt, and five has slain. 
On the bloody braes of Yarrow, 

Till that stubborn knight came him behind 
And ran his body thorough. 

" Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John, 

And tell your sister Sarah, 
To come and lift her leafu' lord; 

He 's sleepin' sound on Y^arrow." — 

" Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream : 

I fear there will be sorrow ! 
I dreamed I pu'd the heather green, 

Wi' my true love, on Y^arrow. 

" gentle wind, that blowcth south, 
From where my love repaireth. 

Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, 
And tell me how he fareth ! 

'•'• But in the glen strive armed men ; 

They 've wrought me dole and sorrow ; 
They ' ve slain — the comeliest kniglit they ' ve 
slain — 

He bleeding lies on Y^arrow." 

As she sped down yon high, high hill, 
She gaed wi' dole and sorrow, 

And in the den spied ten slain men, 
On the dowie banks of Yarrow. 



452 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



She kissed his cheeks, ohe kaimed his hair, 
She searched his wounds all thorough ; 

She kissed them, till her lips gruw red, 
On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 

'']N"ow hand your tongue, my daughter 
dear ! 

For a' this breeds but sorrow ; 
I '11 wed ye to a better lord, 

Than him ye lost on Yarrow." — 

" Oh hand your tongue, ray father dear ! 

Ye mind me but of sorrow ; 
A fairer rose did never bloom. 

Than now lies cropped on Yarrow." 

Anonymoits. 



THE BRAES OF YAEROW. 

' Btjsk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride ! 

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ! 
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride. 

And think nae mair of the braes of Yarrow." 

'*' Where got ye that bonnie, bonnie bride. 
Where got ye that winsome marrow ? " 

'•' I got her where I daurna weel be seen, 
Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. 

'Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie 
bride, 
Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow ! 
N'or let thy heart lament to leave 
Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow." 

'' Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie 
bride? 

Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? 
And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen 

Pu'ing the birks on tlie braes of Yarrow ? " 

' Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun 
she weep — 

Lang maun she weep wi' dule and sorrow; 
And lang maun I nae mair veel be seen 

Pu'ing tlie birks on the braes of Yr^rrow. 



" For she has tint her lover, lover dear — 
Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow ; 

And I hae slain the comeliest swain 

That e'er pu'd birks on the braes of Y^arro^v 

" Why runs thy stream, Yarrow, Y'arrov^' 
red? 
Why on thy braes heard the voice of sor* 
row? 
And why yon melancholious weeds 
Hung on the bonnie birks of YarroAV ? 

"What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful 
flood? 
What 's yonder floats ? — Oh, dule and sor- 
row! 
'Tis he, the comely swain I slew 
Upon the dulefu' braes of Y^arrow. 

" Wash, Oh wash his wounds, his wounds in 
tears, 

His wounds in tears o' dule and sorrow ; 
And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, 

And lay him on the banks of Yarrow, 

" Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad. 

Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi' sorrow ; 
And weep around, in waeful wise. 

His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow ! 

" Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, 
The arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, 

The fatal spear that pierced his breast. 
His comely breast, on the braes of Yarrow ! 

" Did I not warn thee not to, not to love, 
And warn from fight? But, to my sorrow, 

Too rashly bold, a stronger arm thou met'st, 
Thou met'st, and fell on the braes of Yar- 
row. 

Sweet smells the birk ; green grows, green 
grows the grass ; 

Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan ; 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock ; 

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowing! 

"Flows Yarrow sweet? As sw^eet, as swee^ 
flows Tweed ; 

As green its grass ; its gowan as yellow ; 
As sweet smells on its braes the birk ; 

The apple from its rocks as mellow ! 



RARE WILLIE DROWNED, IN YARROW. 



45H 



'Fair was thy love ! fair, fair indeed thy love ! 

In flowery bands thou didst him fetter ; 
Though he was fair, and well-beloved again, 

Than I he never loved thee better. 

Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie 

bride ! 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow I 
Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed 
And think nae mair on the braes of Yar- 



' How can I busk a bonnie, bonnie bride ? 

How can I busk a winsome marrow ? 
How can I lo'e him on the banks of Tweed, 

That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow- ? 

" Oh Y^'arrow fields, may never, neve? rain, 
IJoY dew, thy tender blossoms cover ! 

For there was basely slain my love, 
My love, as he had not been a lover. 

'' The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, 
His purple vest — 'twas my ain sewing; 

Ah, wretched me! I httle, little kenned 
He was, in these, to meet his ruin. 

* The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white 
steed, 

Unmindful of my dule and sorrow ; 
But ere the too fa' of the night, 

He lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow ! 

"Much I rejoiced that waefu', waefu' day ; 

I sang, my voice the woods returning ; 
But lang ere night the spear was flown 

That slew my love, and left me mourning. 

" What can my barbarous, barbarous father do. 
But with his cruel rage pursue me ? 

My lover's blood is on thy spear — 
How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo 
me? 

"My happy sisters may be, may be proud; 

With cruel and ungentle scoflSng 
May bid me seek, on Yarrow braes, 

My lover nailed in his coffin. 

My brotlier Douglas may upbraid. 
And strive, with threatening words, to 
move me ; 
My lover's blood is on thy spear — 
How canst thou ever bid me love thee ? 



" Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love ! 

With bridal-sheets my body cover ! 
Unbar, ye bridal-maids, the door ! 

Let in the expected husband-lover ! 

" But who the expected husband, husband is? 

His hands, methinks, are batlied in slaugh- 
ter! 
Ah me ! what ghastly spectre 's yon 

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after ? 

"Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down; 

Oh lay his cold head on my pillow ! 
Take off, take off these bx*idal weeds. 

And crown my careful head with willow. 

" Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best be- 
loved, 

Oh could my warmth to life restore thee ! 
Yet lie all night within my arms — 

1^0 youth lay ever there before thee ! 

" Pale, pale indeed, O lovely, lovely youth I 
Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, 

And lie all night within my arms, 
No youth shall ever lie there after ! " 

" Return, return, mournful, mournful 
bride ! 
Eeturn, and dry thy useless sorrow ! 
Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs ; 

He lies a corpse on the braes' of Yarrow." 
William Hamilton. 



RARE WILLY DROW:NrED IN YARROW 

" Willy 's rare, and Willy 's fair, 
And Willy 's wondrous bonny ; 

And Willy heght to marry me, 
Gin e'er he married ony. 

'' Yestreen I made my bed fa' braid, 
This night I '11 make it narrow ; 

For a' the livelang winter night 
I ly twined of my marrow. 

''Oh came you by yon water-side ? 

Pou'd you the rose or lily ? 
Or came you by yon meadow green ! 

Or saw you my sweet Willy?" 



454 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



She sought hnn east, she sought him west, 
She sought him braid and narrow ; 

Syne in the cleaving of a craig, 

She found him drcwned in Yarrow. 



Anonymous. 



SOKG. 



Thy braes were bonny, l^arrow stream ! 

"When first on them I met my lover ; 
Thy braes how dreary. Yarrow stream ! 

When now thy waves his body cover. 

For ever now, O Y^'arrow stream ! 

Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ; 
For never on thy banks shall I 

Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow. 

He promised me a milk-white steed. 

To bear me to his father's bowers ; 
lie promised me a little page. 

To 'squire me to his father's towers ; 
He promised me a wedding-ring — 

The wedding-day was fixed to-morrow ; 
Now he is wedded to his grave, 

Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! 

Sweet were his words when last we met ; 

My passion I as freely told him ! 
Clasped in his arms, I little thought 

That I should never more behold him! 
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; 

It vanished with a shriek of sorrow ; 
Thrice did the water- wraith ascend. 

And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. 

His mother from the window looked, 

With all the longing of a mother ; 
His little sister weeping walked 

The green-wood path to meet her brother. 
They sought him east, they sought him west. 

They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
rhey only saw the cloud of night, 

They only heard the roar of Yarrow ! 

N'o longer from thy window look. 
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! 

N'o longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 
Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 



No longer seek him east or west, 

And search no more the forest thorough 

For, wandering in the night so dark, 
He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow. 

The tear shall never leave my cheek, 
No other youth shall be my marrow ; 

I '11 seek thy body in the stream. 

And then with thee I '11 sleep in Yarrow. 

John Logan. 



THE CRUEL SISTEE. 

Tkeee were two sisters sat in a hour, 
Binnorie^ Binnorie; 
There came a knight to be their wooer ; 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie, 

He courted the eldest with glove and ring, 

Binnorie^ Binnorie ; 
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing ; 
By the lonny milldams of Binnorie, 

He courted the eldest with broach and knife 

Binnorie^ Binnorie ; 
But he lo'ed the youngest abune his life ; 

By the 'bonny milldams of Binnorie, 

The eldest she was vexed sair, 

Binnorie^ Binnorie ; 
And sore envied her sister fair ; 

By the bonny milldams of Binnorie, 

The eldest said to the youngest ane, 

Binnorie^ Binnorie — 
'' Will ye go and see our father's ships come 
in?" 

By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. 

She 's ta'en her by the lily hand, 

Binnorie^ Binnorie — 
And led her down to the river strand ; 

By the bonny milldams of Binnorie, 

The youngest stude upon a stane, 

Binnorie., Binnorie ; 
The eldest came and pushed her in ; 

By the bonny milldams of Binnorie 



THE CRUEL SISTER. 



455 



She took her by the middle sma', 

Binnorie^ Binnorie ; 
And dashed her bonny back to the jaw ; 

By the Ijonny milldams of Binnorie, 

** O sister, sister, reach your hand, 

Binnorie^ Binnorie ; 
And ye shall be heir of half my land." — 

By the tonny milldams of Binnorie, 

" sister, I'll not reach my hand, 

Binnorie,^ Binnorie ; 
And I '11 be heir of all your land ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

" Shame fa' the hand that I should take, 

Binnorie^ Binnorie : 
It's twined me and my world's make." — 
By the lonny milldams of Binnorie. 

" O sister, reach me but your glove, 
Binnorie^ Binnorie ; 
And sweet William shall be your love." — 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

*' 6ink on, nor hope for hand or glove ! 

Binnorie^ Binnorie ; 
And sweet William shall better be my love. 
By the lonny milldams of Binnorie. 

" Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair, 

Binnorie^ Binnorie ; 
Garred me gang maiden evermair." 

By the donny milldams of Binnorie. 

Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Until she cam to the miller's dam ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

" O father, father, draw your dam ! 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
There's either a mermaid, or a milk-white 

swan." 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie, 

The miller hasted and drew his dam, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; ^ 
And there he found a drowned woman ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie, 



You could not see her yellow hair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
For gowd and pearls that were so rare ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie 

You could not see her middle sma', 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Her gowden girdle was sae bra' ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie 

A famous harper passing by, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
The sweet pale face he chanced to spy ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie, 

And when he looked that lady on, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
He sighed and made a heavy moan ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie, 

He made a harp of her breast-bone, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone ; 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie, 

The strings he framed of her yellow hair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie — 
Whose notes made sad the Hstening ear; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie. 

He brought it to her father's hall, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And there was the court assembled all ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie 

He laid his harp upon a stone, 

Binnorie.^ Binnorie ; 
And straight it began to play alone ; 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie, 

" Oh yonder sits my father, the king, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And yonder sits my mother, the queen ; " 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie^ 

"And yonder stands my brother Hugli, 

Binnorie, Bin n or ie ; 
And by him my William, sweet and true." 
By the honny milldams of Binnorie, 

But the last tune that the harp played then, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Was — " Woe to my sister, folse Helen 1 " 

By the honny milldams of Binnorie, 
Anonymous. 



456 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



LORD RANDAL. 

" Oh where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my 

son? 
Oh where hae ye been, my handsome young 

man ? " 
*'I hae been to the wild wood; mother, 

make my bed soon, 
For I 'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 

down." 

'' Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, 

my son ? 
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome 

young man ? " 
" I dined wi' my true-love ; mother, make 

my bed soon. 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 

down." 

^* What gat ye to your dinner. Lord Randal, 

my son ? 
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome 

young man ? " 
''' I gat eels boiled in broo ; mother, make my 

bed soon, 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 

down." 

^*What became of your bloodhounds. Lord 

Randal, my son ? 
What became of your bloodhounds, my hand- 



some young man 



?" 



^* Oh they swelled and they died ; mother, 

make my bed soon, 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 

down." 

' Oh I fear ye are poisoned. Lord Randal, my 

son ! 
Oh I fear ye are poisoned, my handsome young 

man! " 
^' Oh yes! I am poisoned; mother, make my 

bed soon, 
For I 'm sick at the heart, and I fain waid lie 

down." 

AN0NTM0U6 



EDWARD, EDWARD. 

" QuHY dois zour brand sae droj^ wi' blaid, 
Edward, Edward 
Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi"* bluid, 

And quhy sae sad gang zee oh ? " 
^' Oh I hae killed my hauke sae guid, 

Mither, mithert 
Oh I hae killed my hauk sae guid. 

And T had nae mair hot hee oh " 

" Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 

Edward, Edward; 
Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae raid — 

My deir son, I tell thee oh." 
" Oh I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 

Mither, mither : 
Oh I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 

That erst was sae fair and free oh." 

"Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, 

Edward, Edward : 
Zour steid was auld, and ze hae got mair — 

Sum ether dule ze drie oh." 
" Oh I hae killed my fader deir, 

Mither, mither : 
Oh I hae killed my fader deir — 

Alas ! and wae is mee oh ! " 

" And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that, 

Edward, Edward ? 

And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that ? 

My deir son, now tell me oh." 
" He set my feit in zonder boat, 

Mither, mither : 
He set my feit in zonder boat, 

And Be fare ovir the sea oh." 

"And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and . 
zour ha', I 

Edward, Edward? 
And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and 
zour ha'. 

That were sae fair to see oh? " 
" He let thame stand til they doun fa', 

Mither, mither : 
He let thame stand til they doun fa', 

For here nevir mair maun I bee oh." 



THE TWA BROTHERS. 



457 



'And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and 

zour wife, 

Edward, Edward? 

A.nd quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and 

zour wife, 

Quhan ze gang ovir the sea oh ? " 

" The warldis room — late them beg throw life, 

Mither, mither: 

I'he warldis room — ^late them beg throw life, 

For tharae nevir mair wul Isee oh." 

" And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither 
deir, 

Edward, Edward? 
And quhat w^ul ze leive to zour ain mither 
deir? 

My deir son, now tell me oh. " 
" The curse of hell frae me sail ze heir, 

Mither, mither: 
The curse of hell frae me sail ze heir — 

Sic counseils ze gave to me oh. " 
Anonymous. 



THE TWA BROTHERS. 

Theee were twa brothers at the scule. 

And when they got awa\ — 
'It's will ye play at the stane-chucking, 

Or will ye play at the ba' ? 
Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, 

<ind there we '11 warsel a fa' ? " 

''I winna play at the stane-chucking, 

Kor will I play at the ba' ; 
Bat I '11 gae up to yon bonnie green hill, 

And there we '11 warsel a fa' ? " 

They warsled up, they warsled down, 

Till John fell to the ground ; 
A dirk fell out of William's pouch, 

And gave John a deadly wound. 

* Oh lift rne upon your back — 

Tak me to yon well fair; 
And wash my bluidy wounds o'er and o'er, 

And they '11 ne'er bleed nae mair." 

He 's lifted his brother upon his back, 

Ta'en him to yon well fair ; 
He's washed his bluidy wounds o'er and o'er, 

But thav bleed ay mair and mair. 



" Tak ye aff my Holland sark, 

And rive it gair by gair. 
And row it in my bluidy wounds. 

And they '11 ne'er bleed nae mair." 

H^ 's taken aff his Holland sark. 

And torn it gair by gair ; 
He 's rowit it in his bluidy wounds, 

But they bleed ay mair and mair. 

"Tak now aff my green cleiding, 

And row me saftly in ; 
And tak me up to yon kirk style, 

Whare the grass grows fair and green.'' 

He 's taken aff the green cleiding, 

And rowed him saftly in ; 
He 's laid him down by yon kirk style, 

Whare the grass grows fair and green. 

"What will ye say to your father dear, 

When ye gae hame at e'en ? " 
"I '11 say ye 're lying at yon kirk style, 
Whare the grass grows fair and green." 

" Oh no, oh no, my brother dear, 

Oh you must not say so ; 
But say that I am gane to a foreign land 

Where nae man does me know." 

When he sat in his father's chair, 
He grew baith pale and wan : 

" Oh what blude 's that upon your brow 
dear son, tell to me." 

" It is the blude o' my gude gray steed- 
He wadna ride wi' me." 

" Oh thy steed's blade was ne'er sae red, 

Nor e'er sae dear to me. 
Oh what blude 's this upon your cheek? 

O dear son, tell to me." 
" It is the blude of my greyhound — 

He wadna hunt for me." 

" Oh thy hound's blude was ne'er sae red 

Nor e'er sae dear to me. 
Oh what blude 's this upon your hand ? 

dear son, tell to me." 
" It is the blude of my gay goss hawk— 

He wadna flee for me." 



4:68 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



" Oh thy hawk's blude was ne'er sae red, 

Nor e'er sae dear to me. 
Oh what blude 's this upon your dirk? 

Dear Willie, tell to me." 
*' It is the blude of my ae brother, 

Oh dule and wae is me! " 

'• Oh what will ye say to youi father? 

Dear Wilhe, tell to me." 
*' 1 '11 saddle my steed, and awa' I '11 ride 

To dwell in some far countrie." 

" Oh when will ye come hame again? 

Dear Willie, tell to me." 
^ When sun and mune leap on yon hill — 

And that will never be." 

^he turned hersel' right round about, 
And her heart burst into three : 

■'My ae best son is deid and gane, 
And my tother ane I '11 ne'er see." 

Anonymous. 



THE TWA CORBIES. 

As I gaed doun by yon house-en' 

Twa corbies there were sittan their lane : 

The tane unto the tother sae, 

" Oh where shall we gae dine to-day ? " 

" Oh down beside yon new-faun birk 

There lies a new-slain knicht ; 

ISTae livin kens that he lies there, 

But his horse, his hounds, and his lady fair. 

" His horse is to the huntin gane, 

His hounds to bring the wild deer hame ; 

His lady 's taen another mate ; 

Sae we may make our dinner swate. 

" Oh we '11 sit on his bonnie briest-bane, 
And we '11 pyke out his bonnie grey een ; 
Wi ae lock o' his gowden hair 
We '11 theek our nest when it blavv^s bare. 

'' Mony a ane for him maks mane, 
But nane sail ken where he is gane ; 
Ower his banes, when they are bare, 
Tlio wind sail blaw for evermair ! " 

AWONYMOITS. 



BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL, 

Hie upon Hielands, 

And low upon Tay, 
Bonnie George Campbell 

Rade out on a day. 
Saddled and bridled 

And gallant rade he ; 
Hame cam his gude horse, 

But never cam he \ 

Out cam his auld mither, 

Greeting fa' sair ; 
And out cam his bonnie bride, 

Rivin' her hair. 
Saddled and bridled 

And booted rade he ; 
Toom hame came the saddle. 

But never cam he I 

" My meadow lies green, 

And my corn is unshorn : 
My barn is to big. 

And my baby 's unborn." 
Saddled and bridled 

And booted rade he ; 
Toom hame cam the saddle, 

But never cam he ! 

ANoimsoxTa 



LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW 

My love he built me a bonny bower, 
And clad it a' wi' lilye flour ; 
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see 
Than my true love he built for me. 

There came a man, by middle day ; 
He spied his sport, and went away ; 
And brought the king that very night, 
Who brake my bower, and slew my knighl 

He slew my knight, to rae sae dear ; 
He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear , 
My servants all for life did flee, 
And left me in extreraitie. 



SONG. 



46i) 



I sewed his sheet, making my mane ; 
I watched the corpse, myself alane ; 
I watched his body, night and day ; 
TsTo living creature came that way. 

I tuk his body on my back, 

And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ; 

I digged a grave, and laid him in, 

And happed him with the sod sae green. 

But think na ye my heart was sair, 
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair ? 
Oh think na ye my heart was wae, 
When I turned about, away to gae ? 

Nae living man I '11 love again, 
Since that my lovely knight is slain ; 
Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair 
I'll chain my heart for evermair. 

AN0KY1S0F3. 



FAIR HELEN". 

I wisn I were where Helen lies ; 
Night and day on me she cries. 
Oh that I were where Helen lies, 
On fair Kirconnell lee 1 

Curst be the heart that thought the thought. 
And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
When in my arms burd Helen dropt. 
And died to succour me ! 

Oh think na ye my heart was sair. 
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair ? 
There did she swoon wi' meikle care. 
On fair Kirconnell lee. 

As I went down the water side, 
None but my foe to be my guide — 
N'one but my foe to be my guide. 
On fair Kirconnell lee — 

lighted down my sword to draw ; 
I racked him in pieces sma' — 
I hacked him in pieces sma\ 

For her sake that died for me. 

Helen fair, beyond compare, 

1 '11 make a garland of thy hair, 
Shall bind my heart for evermair, 

Until the day I die 1 



Oh that I were where Helen lies I 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
Out of my bed she bids me rise — 
Says, "Haste and come to me ! " 

JHelen fair ! O Helen chaste ! 
If I were with thee I were blest, 
Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest, 

On fair Kirconnell lee. 

1 wish my grave were growing green, 
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, 
And I in Helen's arms lying, 

On fair Kirconnell lee. 

I wish I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
And I am weary of the skies. 
For her sake that died for me. 

ANONTMOrH* 



SON'G. 



" Mary, go and call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home. 
Across the sands o' Dee ! " 
The western wind was wild and dank wi' foan?, 
And all alone went she. 

The creeping tide came up along the sand, 
And o'er and o'er the sand. 
And round and round the sand. 
As far as eye could see ; 
The blinding mist came down and hid the land 
And never home came she. 

" Oh is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — 
A tress o' golden hair, 
0' drowned maiden's hair — 
Above the nets at sea ? 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair. 
Among the stakes on Dee." 

They rowed her in across the rolling foam- 
The cruel, crawling foam. 
The cruel, hungry foam — 
To her grave beside the sea ; 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle 
home 
Across the sands o' Dee. 

CHARLF8 EiNOSLBY. 



i60 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 

AX EPISODE. 

AxD the first gray of morning filled the east, 
And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream ; 
But all the Tartar camp along the stream 
Was hushed, and still the men were plunged 

in sleep. 
Sohrab alone, he slept not ; all night along 
He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed ; 
But when the gray dawn stole into his tent. 
He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword, 
And took his horseman's cloak, and left his 

tent, 
And went abroad into the cold wet fog. 
Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's tent. 
Through the black Tartar tents he passed, 

which stood, 
Clustering like bee-hives, on the low flat 

strand 
Of Oxus, where the summer floods overflow . 
When the sun melts the snows in high Pa- 
mere : 
Through the black tents he passed, o'er that 

low strand. 
And to a hillock came, a little back 
From the stream's brink, the spot where first 

a boat. 
Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the 

land. 
The men of former times had crowned the 

top 
With a clay fort. But that was fallen ; and 

now 
The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, 
A dome of laths ; and o'er it felts were 

spread. 
And Sohrab came there, and went in, and 

stood 
Upon the thiclc-piled carpets in the tent. 
And found the old man sleeping on his bed 
Of rugs and felts ; and near him lay his arms. 
And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step 
Was dulled ; for he slept light, an old man's 

sleep ; 
And he rose quickly on one arm, and said : 
*^Who art thou? for it is not yet clear 

dawn. 
Speak ! Is there news, or any night alarm ? " 



But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said ; 
" Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa ; it is I. 
The sun is not yet risen, and the foe 
Sleep ; but I sleep not. All night long I lie 
Tossing and wakeful ; and I come to tliee. 
For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek 
Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son. 
In Samarcand, before the army marched ; 
And I will tell thee what my heart desires. 
ThoQ knowest if, since from Ader-baijan first 
I came among the Tartars, and bore arms, 
I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown. 
At my boy's years, the courage of a man. 
This, too, thou know'st, that while I still 

bear on 
The conquering Tartar ensigns through the 

world. 
And beat the Persians back on every field, 
I seek one man, one man, and one alone. 
Rustum, my father; who, I hoped, should 

greet. 
Should one day greet upon some well-fought 

field 
His not unworthy, not inglorious son. 
So I long hoped, but him I never find. 
Come then, hear now, and grant me what 

ask. 
Let the two armies rest to-day ; but I 
Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords 
To meet me, man to man. If I prevail, 
Rustum will surely hear it ; if I fall — 
Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. 
Dim is the rumor of a common fight. 
Where host meets host, and many names are 

sunk ; 
But of a single combat fame speaks clear." 

He spoke : and Peran-Wisa took the hand 
Of the young man in his, and sighed, and 

said : 
" Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine ! 
Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs, 
And share the battle's common chance with 

us 
Who love thee, but must press for ever first, 
In single fight incurring single risk. 
To find a father thou hast never seen ? 
That were far best, my son, to stay with us 
Unmurmuring — in our tents, while it is war; 
And when 'tis truce^ then in AfrasiaVe 

towns. 
But, if this one desire indeed rules all, 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



461 



To seek out Eustum — seek him not through 

fight; 
Seek him' ia peace, and cany to his arms — 
Sohrab, carry an unwounded son ! 
But far hence seek hnn ; for he is not here. 
For now it is not as when I was young, 
When Rustum was in front of every fray ; 
But now he keeps apart, and sits at home. 
In Siestan, v/ith Zal, his father old ; 
Whether that his own mighty strength at last 
Feels the abhorred approaches of old age ; 
Or in some quarrel with the Persian king. 
There go; — Thou wilt not? yet my heart 

forebodes 
Danger or death awaits thee on this field. 
Fain would I know thee safe and well, though 

lost 
To us — fain therefore send thee hence, in 

peace 
To seek thy father, not seek single fights 
In vain. But who can keep the lion's cut 
From ravening? and who govern Rustum's 

son? 
Go ! I will grant thee what thy heart desires." 
So said he, and dropped Sohrab's hand, and 

left 
His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay ; 
And o'er his chilly limbs his woollen coat 
He passed, and tied his sandals on his feet. 
And threw a white cloak round him ; and he 

took 
In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword ; 
And on his head he placed his sheep- skin 

cap — 
Black, glossy, curled, the fleece of Kara-Kul ; 
And raised the curtain of his tent, and called 
His herald to his side, and went abroad. 
The sun, by this, had risen, and cleared the 

fog 
From the broad Oxus and the glittering 

sands ; 
And from their tents the Tartar horsemen filed 
Into the open plain : so Ilaman bade — 
Haman, who, next to Peran-Wisa, ruled 
The host, and still was in his lusty prime. 
From their black tents, long files of horse, 

they streamed : 
As when, some grey November morn, the 

files. 
In marching order spread, of long-necked 

cranes, 



Stream over Casbin, and the southern slopes 

Of Elburz, from the Aialian estuaries. 

Or some frore Caspian reed-bed — southward 

bound 
For the warm Persian sea-board: so they 

streamed — 
TJie Tartars of the Oxus, the king's guard, 
First, with black sheep- skin caps, and with 

long spears ; 
Large men, large steeds ; who from Bokhara 

come, 
And Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares. 
Next the more temperate Toorkmuns of the 

south. 
The Tukas, and the lances of Salore, 
And those from Attruck and the Caspian 

sands — 
Light men, and on light steeds, who only 

drink 
The acrid milk of camels, and their wells. 
And then a swarm of wandering horse, who 

came 
From far, and a more doubtful service 

owned — 
The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks 
Of the Jaxartes — men with scanty beards 
And close-set skull-caps; and those wilder 

hordes 
Who roam o'er Kipchak and the northern 

waste, 
Kalmuks and unkemped Kuzzaks, tribes who 

stray 
Nearest the pole ; and wandering Kirghizes, 
Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere. 
These all filed out from camp into the plain. 
And on the o4her side the Persians formed : 
First a light cloud of horse, Tartars ihey 

seemed. 
The Ilyats of Khorassan ; and behind, 
The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot^ 
Marshalled battalions bright in burnished 

steel. 
But Peran-Wisa with his herald came 
Threading the Tartar squadrons to the front, 
And with his staff kept back the foremost 

ranks. 
And w^hen Ferood, who led the Persians, saw 
That Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back, 
Ho took his spear, and to the front he came 
And checked his ranks, and fixed them where 

they stood. 



ib2 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



And the old Tartar came upon the sand 
Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and 
said : — 
"Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, 
hear ! 
Let there be truce between the hosts to-day. 
But choose a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight our champion, Sohrab, man to man." 

As, in the country, on a morn in June, 
When the dew glistens on the pearled ears, 
A shiver runs through the deep corn for joy — 
So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said, 
A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran, 
Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they 
loved. 
But as a troop of pedlars, from Cabool, 
-Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, 
That vast sky-neighboring mountain of milk 

snow. 
Winding so high, that, as they mount, they 

pass 
Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the 

snow. 
Choked by the air ; and scarce can they 

themselves 
Slake their parched throats with sugared 

mulberries — 
In single file they move, and stop their breath. 
For fear they should dislodge the o'erhanging 

snows — 
So the pale Persians held their breath with 
fear. 
And to Ferood his brother chiefs came up 
To counsel. Gudurz and Zoarrah came ; 
And Feraburz, who ruled the Persian host 
Second, and was the uncle of the king ; 
These came and counselled ; and then Gudurz 
said : — 
''Ferood, shame bids us take their chal- 
lenge up, 
Yet champion have we none to match this 

youth ; 
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart. 
But Pustum came last night ; aloof he sits. 
And sullen, and has pitched his tents apart : 
Him will I seek, and carry to his ear 
The Tartar challenge, and this young man's 

name. 
Haply he will forget his wrath, and fight. 
Stand forth the while, and take their chal- 
lenge up." 



So spake he ; and Ferood stood forth and 

said : — 
" Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said. 
Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man." 
He spoke ; and Peran-Wisa turned, and strode 
Back through the opening squadrons to his 

tent. 
But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, 
And crossed the camp which lay behind, and 

reached. 
Out on the sands beyond it, Eustum's tents. 
Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay, 
Just pitched. The high pavilion in the midst 
Was Rustum's ; and his men lay camped 

around. 
And Gudurz entered Eustum's tent, and found 
Eustum. His morning meal was done ; but 

still 
The table stood beside him, charged with 

food — 
A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread, 
And dark green melons. And there Eustum 

sate 
Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist. 
And played with it ; but Gudurz came and 

stood 
Before him ; and he looked and saw him 

stand ; 
And with a cry sprang up, and dropped the 

bird. 
And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and 

said : — 
" Welcome ! these eyes could see no better 

sight. 
What news ? But sit down first, and eat and 

drink." 
But Gudurz stood in the tent door, and 

said : — 
" Kot now. A time will come to eat and 

drink. 
But not to-day : to-day has other needs. 
The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze; 
For from the Tartars is a challenge brought 
To pick a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight their champion — and thou know'st 

his name — 
Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. 
Eustum, like thy might is this younp 

man's ! 
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's lieart. 
And he is young, and Iran's chiefs are old. 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



^63 



Or else too weak ; and all eyes turn to thee. 
Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose." 
He spoke. But Rustum answered with a 

smile : — 
" Go to ! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I 
Am older. If the young are weak, the king 
Errs strangely ; for the king, for Kai Khos- 

roo, 
Himself is young, and honors younger men, 
And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 
Rustum he loves no more, but loves the 

young— 
The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. 
For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's 

fame? 
For would that I myself had such a son, 
And not that one slight helpless girl I have — 
A son so famed, so brave, to send to war, 
And I to tarry with the snow-haired Zal, 
My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, 
And clip his borders short, and drive his 

herds ; 
And he has none to guard his weak old age. 
There would I go, and hang my armor up. 
And with my great name fence that weak old 

man. 
And spend the goodly treasures I have got. 
And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's fame. 
And leave to death the hosts of thankless 

kings. 
And with these slaughterous hands draw 

sword no more." 
He spoke, and smiled; and Gudurz made 

reply :— 
"What then, Rustum, will men say to 

this, 
When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and 

seeks 
Thee most of all ; and thou, whom most he 

seeks, 
Hidest thy face ? Take heed, lest men should 

say, 
Lihe some old miser Rustum lioards Msfame^ 
And shuns to peril it with younger men^ 
And, greatly moved, then Rustum made 

reply: — 
" Gudurz, wherefore dost tliou say sucli 

words ? 
rhou knowest better words than this to say. 
What is one more, one less, obscure or famed, 
Valiant or craven, young or old, to me ? | 



Are not they mortal ? Am not I myself? 
But who for men of nought would do great 

deeds? 
Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards his 

fame. 
But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms, 
Let not men say of Rustum, he was matched 
In single fight with any mortal man." 

He spoke, and frowned ; and Gudurz turned., 

and ran 
Back quickly through the camp in fear and 

joy- 
Fear at his wrath, but joy that Rustum came. 
But Rustum strode to his tent door, and 

called 
His followers in, and bade them bring his 

arms. 
And clad himself in steel. The arms he 

chose 
Were plain, and on his shield was no device ; 
Only his helm was rich, inlaid with gold; 
And from the fluted spine, atop, a plume 
Of horse-hair waved, a scarlet horse-hair 

plume. 
So armed, he issued forth; and Ruksh, his 

horse. 
Followed him, like a faithful hound, at 

heel — 
Ruksh, whose renown was noised through 

all the earth — 
The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once 
Did in Bokhara by the river find, 
A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home 
And reared him ; a bright bay, with lofty 

crest, 
Dight with a saddle-cloth of broidered green 
Crusted with gold ; and on the ground were 

worked 
All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters 

know. 
So followed, Rustum left his tents, and crossed 
The camp, and to the Persian host appeared. 
And all the Persians knew him, and with 

shouts 
Hailed: but the Tartars knew not who he 

was. 
And dear as the wet diver to the eyes 
Of his pale wife, who wa'ts and weeps on 

shore. 
By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf — 
Plunging all day in tlie blue waves, at night, 



464 



POEMS. OF TKAGEDY AXD SORROW. 



Having made up his tale of precious pearls, 
Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands — 
So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came. 

And Rustum to the Persian front advanced: 
And Sohrah armed in Haman's tent, and 

came. 
And as a-field the reapers cut a swathe 
Down through the middle of a rich man's 

corn. 
And on each side are squares of standing 

corn, 
And in the midst a stubble, short and bare : 
So on each side were squares of men, with 

spears 
Bristling; and in the midst, the open sand. 
And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast 
His ejes towards the Tartar tents, and saw 
Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he 

came. 
As some rich woman, on a winter's morn. 
Eyes through her silken curtains the poor 

drudge 
Who with numb-blackened fingers makes her 

fire — 
At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn. 
When the frost flowers the whitened window 

panes — 
And wonders how she lives, and what the 

thoughts 
Of that poor drudge may be: so Rustum 

eyed 
The unknown adventurous youth, who from 

afar 
Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth 
All the most valiant chiefs. Long he perused 
His spirited air, and wondered who he was. 
For very young he seemed, tenderly reared; 
Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and 

straight, 
Which in a queen's secluded garden throws 
[ts slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, 
By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound — 
So slender Sohrab seemed, so softly reared. 
And a deep pity entered Rustum's soul 
As he beheld him coming ; and he stood, 
And beckoned to him with his hand, and 

said : 
" Oh, thou young man, the air of heaven 
is soft, 
And warm, end pleasant; but the grave is 

cold. 



Heaven's air is better than the cold dead 

grave. 
Behold me : I am vast, and clad in iron. 
And tried ; and I have stood on many a field 
Of blood, and I have fought with many 9 

foe; 
Never was that field lost, or that foe saved. 
Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? 
Be governed : quit the Tartar host, and como 
To Iran, and be as my son to me, 
And fight beneath my banner till I die. 
There are no youths in Iran brave as thou." 
So he spake, mildly. Sohrab heard his 

voice, 
The mighty voice of Rustum ; and he saw 
His giant figure planted on the sand — 
Sole, like some single tower, which a chief 
Has builded on the waste in former years 
Against the robbers ; and he saw that head, 
Streaked with its first gray hairs. Hope filled 

his soul ; 
And he ran forward and embraced his knees, 
And clasped his hand within his own and 

said : — 
*' Oh, by thy father's head! by thme own 

soul ! 
Art thou not Rustum ? Speak ! art thou not 

he?" 
But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling 

youth, 
And turned away, and spoke to his own soul ; 
" Ah me, I muse what this young fox may 

mean. 
False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar bo^s. 
For if I now confess this thing he asks. 
And hide it not, but say — Eustum is here — 
He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes. 
But he will find some pretext not to fight. 
And praise my fame, and proffer courteous 

gifts— 
A belt or sword perhaps — and go his way. 
And on a feast day, in Afrasiab's hall, 
In Samarcand, he will arise and cry — 
' I challenged once, when the two armies 

camped 
Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 
To cope with me in single fight ; but they 
Shrank ; only Rustum dared. Then he and Ij 
Changed gifts, and went on equal terms] 

away.' 
So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud 



i 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



460 



Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through 

me." 
And then he turned, and sternly spake 
H|f aloud : 

H[ ^ Rise ! Wherefore dost thou vainly ques- 
^K tion thus 

^H Rustum ? I am here, whom thou hast 
Wk' called 
By challenge forth. Make good thy vaunt, 

or yield. 
Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight ? 
Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face and flee. 
For well I know, that did great Rustum 

stand 
Before thy face this day, and were revealed, 
There would be then no talk of fij,^hting 

more. 
But being what I am, I tell thee this — 
Do thou record it in thine inmost soul — 
Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt, and 

yield ; 
Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till 

winds 
Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer floods, 
Oxus in summer, w^ash them all aWay." 
He spoke ; and Sohrab answered, on his 

feet: 
" Art thou so fierce ? Thou wilt not fright 

me so. 
I am no girl, to be made pale by words. 
Yet this thou hast said well : did Rustum 

stand 
Here on this field, there were no fighting 

then. 
But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here. 
Begin! Thou art more vast, more dread, 

than I ; 
And thou art proved, I know, and I am 

young— 
But yet success sways with the breath of 

heaven. 
And though thou thinkest that thou knowest 

sure 
Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know. 
For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, 
Poised on the top of a huge wave of Fate, 
Which hangs uncertain to which side to 

fall; 
And whether it will heave us up to land, 
Or whether it will roll us out to sea — 
Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death — 
63 



We know not, and no search will make ue 

know; 
Only the event will teach us in its hour." 
He spake ; and Rustum answered not, but 

hurled 
His spear. Down from the shoulder, down 

it came — 
As on some partridge in the corn, a hawk. 
That long has towered in the airy clouds. 
Drops like a plummet. Sohrab saw it come, 
And sprang aside, quick as a flash. The spear 
Hissed, and went quivering down into the 

sand, 
Which it sent flying wide. Then Sohrab 

threw 
In turn, and full struck Rustum's shield. 

Sharp rang. 
The iron plates rang sharp, but turned the 

spear. 
And Rustum seized his club, which none b.ut 

he 
Could wield — an unlapped trunk it was, and 

huge. 
Still rough ; like those which men, in tree- 
less plains. 
To build them boats, fish from the flooded 

rivers, 
Hyphasis or Hydaspes, w^hen, high up 
By their dark springs, the wind in winter- 
time 
Has made in Himalayan forests wrack. 
And strewn the channels with torn boughs — 

so huge 
The club which Rustum lifted now, and 

struck 
One stroke ; but again Sohrab sprang aside. 
Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club 

came 
Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rus- 
tum's hand. 
And Rustum followed his own blow, and fel] 
To his knees, and with his fingers clutched 

the sand. 
And now might Sohrab have unslieathed his 

sword, 
And pierced the mighty Rustum while he 

lay 
Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with 
^ sand ; 

But he looked on, and smiled, n(»r bared his 

sword ; 



466 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AXD SORROW. 



But courteously drew back, and spoke, and 

said: 
" Thou strik 'st too hard ; that cJub of thine 

will float 
UpoL the summer floods, and not my bones. 
But rise, and be not wroth ; not wroth am I. 
No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my 

soul. 
Thou sayest thou art not Rustum ; be it so. 
Who art thou then, that canst so touch my 

soul? 
Boy as I am, I have seen battles too ; 
Have waded foremost in their bloody waves. 
And heard their hollow roar of dying men ; 
But never was my heart thus touched before. 
Are they from heaven, these softenings of 

the heart ? 
thou old warrior, let us yield to heaven ! 
Come, plant we here in earth our angry 

spears, 
And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, 
And pledge each other in red wine, like 

friends ; 
And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's deeds. 
There are enough foes in the Persian host 
Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no 

pang; 
Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou 
May'st fight : fight them, when they confront 

thy spear. 
Bat oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and 

me!" 
He ceased. But while he spake, Eustum 

had risen, 
And stood erect, trembling with rage. His 

club 
He left to lie, but had regained his spear, 
Whose fiery point now in his mailed right 

hand 
Blazed bright and baleful — like that autumn 

star, 
The baleful sign of fevers. Dust had soiled 
His stately crest, and dimmed his glittering 

arms. 
His breast heaved ; his lips foamed ; and 

twice his voice 
Was choked with rage. At last these words 

broke way : — 
" Girl ! nimble with thy feet, not with th^r 

1 lands ! 
Curled mirdon, dancer, icoiner of sweet words! 



Fight ! let me hear thy hateful voice no 

more! 
ThoQ art not in Afrasiab's gardens now 
With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wonf 

to dance ; 
But on the Oxus sands, and in the dance 
Of battle, and with me, who make no play 
Of war. I fight it out, and hand to hand. 
Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and 

wine! 
Remember all thy valor ; try thy feints. 
And cunning; all the pity I had is gone ; 
Because thou hast shamed me before both the 

hosts. 
With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's 

wiles." 
He spoke ; and Sohrab kindled at hig 

taunts. 
And he too drew his sword. At once they 

rushed 
Together ; as two eagles on one prey 
Come rushing down together from the clouds, 
One from the east, one from the west. Their 

shields 
Dashed with a clang together ; and a din 
Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters 
Make often in the forest's heart at morn, 
Of hewing axes, crashing trees ; such blows 
Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed. 
And you would say that sun and stars toot 

part 
In that unnatural conflict ; for a cloud 
Grew suddenly in Heaven, and darkened the 

sun 
Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose 
Under their feet, and moaning swept the 

plain. 
And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair. 
In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they 

alone ; 
For both the on-looking hosts on either hand 
Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure-^ 
And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. 
But in the gloom they fought, withbloodsh ,t 

eyes 
And laboring breath. First Rustum struck 

the shield 
Which Sohrab held stiff out. The steel-spiked 

spear I 

Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach tb? 

skin: 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



46'; 



And Rustum plucked it back with angry 

groan. 
Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum 's 

helm, 
Nor clove its steel quite through ; but all the 

crest 
Ee shore aw^ay; and that proud horsehair 

plume, 
N'ever till now defiled, sunk to the dust ; 
And Rustum bowed his head. But then the 

gloom 
Grew blacker ; thunder rumbled in the air, 
And lightnings rent the cloud ; and Ruksh, 

the horse, 
Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry. 
No horse's cry was that, most like the roar 
Of some pained desert lion, who all day 
Has trailed the hunter's javehn in his side, 
And comes at night to die upon the sand. 
The two hosts heard the cry, and quaked for 

fear; 
And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream. 
But Sohrab heard, and quailed not — but 

rushed on. 
And struck again ; and again Rustum bowed 
His head. But this time all the blade, like 

glass. 
Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm. 
And in his hand the hilt remained alone. 
Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful 

eyes 
Glared, and he shook on high his menacing 

spear, 
And shouted " Rustum ! " Sohrab heard that 

shout, 
And shrank amazed; back he recoiled one 

step. 
And scanned with blinking eyes the advanc- 
ing form ; 
And then he stood bewildered ; and he 

dropped 
His covering shield, and the spear pierced his 

side. 
Ho reeled, and staggering back, sunk to the 

ground. 
And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind 

fell, 
And the bright sun broke forth, and melted 

all 
The cloud ; and the two armies saw the 

pair — 



Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, 
And Sohrab wounded, on the bloody sand. 
Then with a bitter smile, Rustum began : — 
" Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to 

kill 
A T^ersian lord this day, and strip his corpse, 
And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent ; 
Or else that the great Rustum would come 

down 
Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would 

move 
His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. 
And then all the Tartar host would praise 
Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy 

fame. 
To glad thy father in his weak old age. 
Fool ! thou art slain, and by an unknown 

man ! 
Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be. 
Than to thy friends, and to thy father old." 
And with a fearless mien Sohrab replied : — 
" Unknown thou art ; yet thy fierce vaunt 

is vain. 
Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful 

man! 
No I Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. 
For w^ere I matched with ten such men as 

thou, 
And I were he who till to-day I was. 
They should be lying here, I standing there. 
But that beloved name unnerved my arm — 
That name, and something, I confess, in thee, 
Which troubles all my heart, and made my 

shield 
Fall; and thy spear transfixed an unarmed 

foe. 
And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. 
But hear thou this, fierce man — tremble to 

hear! 
The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death ! 
My father, whom I seek tliroiiLrh all the 

world, 
He shall avenge my death, and punish thee! ' 
As when some hunter in the spring hath 

found 
A breeding eagle sitting on her nost, 
Upon the craggy isle of a hill lake, 
And pierced her with an arrow as she rose. 
And followed her to find her wiioro she fell 
Far ofit'; — anon her mate comes winging bacli 
From hunting, and a great way off descries 



168 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Elis huddling young left sole ; at that, he 

checks 
His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps 
Circles ahove his eyry, with loud screams 
Chiding his mate back to her nest ;' but she 
Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, 
In some far stony gorge out of his ken — 
A heap of fluttering feathers. IS'ever more 
Shall the lake glass her, flying over it ; 
Never the black and dripping precipices 
Echo her stormy scream, as she sails by. 
As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his 

loss — 
So Kustum knew not his own loss ; but stood 
Over his dying son, and knew him not. 
But with a cold, incredulous voice, he 

said: 
" What prate is this of fathers and revenge ? 
The mighty Kustum never had a son." 

And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied : 
"Ah yes, he had ! and that lost son am I. 
Surely the news will one day reach his ear — 
Reach Kustum, where he sits, and tarries 

long. 
Somewhere, I know not where, but far from 

here ; 
And pierce him like a stab, and make him 

leap 
To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee — 
Fierce man, bethink thee — for an only son ! 
What will that grief, what will that vengeance 

be! 
Oh, could I live till I that grief had seen ! 
Yet him I pity not so much, but her. 
My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells 
With that old king, her father, who grows 

gray 
With age, and rules over the valiant Koords. 
Her most I pity, who no more will see 
Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp. 
With spoils and honor, when the war is done. 
But a dark rumor will be bruited up, 
From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear ; 
And then will that defenceless woman learn 
That Sohrab w^ill rejoice her sight no more ; 
Bat that in battle with a nameless foe. 
By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain." 

He spoke ; and as he ceased he wept aloud. 
Thinking of her he left, and his own death. 
He spoke; but Kustum listened, plunged in 

thought. 



Nor did he yet believe it was his son 

Who spoke, although he called back names 

he knew ; 
For he had had sure tidings that the babe, 
Which was in Ader-baijan born to him. 
Had been a puny girl, no boy at all : 
So that sad mother sent him word, for fear 
Kustum should take the boy, to train iu 

arms ; 
And so he deemed that either Sohrab took, 
By a false boast, the style of Kustum's son ; 
Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. 
So deemed he ; yet he listened, plunged in 

thought ; 
And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide 
Of the bright rocking ocean sets to shore 
At the full moon. Tears gathered in his 

eyes; 
For he remembered his own early youth, 
And all its bounding rapture. As, at dawn, 
The shepherd from his mountain lodge des- 
cries 
A far bright city, smitten by the sun. 
Through many rolling clouds — so Kustum saw 
His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in hci 

bloom ; 
And that old king, her father, who loved wel 
His wandering guest, and gave him his fail 

child 
With joy ; and all the pleasant life they led. 
They three, in that long-distant summer- 
time — 
The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt 
And hound, and morn on those delightful 

hills 
In Ader-baijan. And he saw that youth. 
Of age and looks to be his own dear son. 
Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand. 
Like some rich hyacinth, which by the 

scythe 
Of an unskilful gardener has been cut. 
Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed, 
And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom, 
On the mown, dying grass : so Sohrab lay, 
Lovely in death, upon the common sand. 
And Kustum gazed on him with grief, and 
said: 
^' Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son 
Whom Kustum, wert thou his, might we] 

have loved ! 
Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



46ft 



Have told thee false — thou art not Rustum's 

son. 
For Kustum had no son. One child he had — 
But one — a girl ; who with her mother now 
Plies some light female task, nor dreams of 

us; 
Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor 

war." 
But Sohrab answered him in wrath ; for 

now 
The anguish of the deep-fixed spear grew 

fierce, 
And he desired to draw forth the steel. 
And let the blood flow free, and so to die. 
But first he would convince his stubborn foe ; 
And, rising sternly on one arm, he said : 
"Man, who art thou, who dost deny my 

words? 
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men ; 
And falseliood, while I lived, was far from 

mine. 
I tell thee, pricked upon this arm I bear 
That seal which Rustum to my mother gave, 
That ske might prick it on the babe she bore." 
lie spoke : and all the blood left Rustum's 

cheeks ; 
And his knees tottered ; and he smote his 

hand 
Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand, 
That the hard iron corslet clanked aloud ; 
And to his heart he pressed the other hand, 
And in a hollow voice he spake, and said : 
"Sohrab, that were a proof which could 

not lie. 
If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's 

son." 
Then, with weak, hasty fingers, Sohrab 

loosed 
His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm, 
And showed a sign in faint vermilion points 
Pricked. As a canning workman, in Pekin, 
Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain 

vase, 
An emperor's gift ; at early morn he paints. 
And all day long; and, when night comes, 

the lamp 
Lights up his studious forehead and thin 

hands : 
So delicately pricked the sign appeared 
On Sohrab's arm — the sign of Rustum's seal. 
it was that griffin, which of old reared Zal, 



Rustum's great father, whom they left tc 

die, 
A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks. 
Him that kind creature found, and reared 

and loved ; 
Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign. 
And Sohrab bared that figure on his arm, 
And himself scanned it long with mournful 

eyes, 
And then he touched it with his hand and 

said: 
"How sayest thou? Is that sign the 

proper sign 
Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's? " 
He spoke : but Rustum gazed, and gazed, 

and stood 
Speechless; and then he uttered one sharp 

cry— 
" 0, boy — Thy father ! " — and his voice chok- 
ed there. 
And then a dark cloud passed before his eyes, 
And his head swam, and he sank down to 

earth. 
But Sohrab crawled to where he lay, and 

cast 
His arms about his neck, and kissed his lips, 
And with fond, faltering fingers stroked his 

cheeks. 
Trying to call him back to life. And life 
Came back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes, 
And they stood wide with horror; and he 

seized 
In both his hands the dust which lay around. 
And threw it on his head, and smirched his 

hair — 
His hair, and lace, and beard, and glittering 

arms ; 
And strong, convulsive groanings shook his 

breast. 
And his sobs choked him ; and he clutched 

his sword 
To draw it, and for ever let life out. 
But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his 

hands; 
And with a soothing voice he spoke, and 

said : 
" Father, forbear I for I but meet to-day 
Tlie doom that at my birth was written down 
In heaven, and thou art heaven's uncon- 
scious hand. 
Surely iny heart cried out that it was thoa 



m 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



When first I saw thee ; and thy heart spoke 

too, 
r know it. But fate trod those promptings 

down 
Under its iron heel ; fate, fate engaged 
The strife, and hurled me on my father's 

spear. 
But let us speak no more of this — I find 
Mj father ; let me feel that I have found. 
Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take 
Mj head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my 

cheeks, 
And wash them with thy tears, and say, 

'My son! ' 
Quick ! quick ! for numbered are my sands 

of life, 
And swift ; for like the lightning to this field 
I came, and like the wind I go away — 
Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind. 
But it was writ in heaven that this should 

be." 
So said he: and his voice released the 

heart 
Of Eustum, and his tears broke forth; he 

cast 
His arms round his son's neck, and wept 

aloud. 
And kissed him. And awe fell on both the 

hosts 
When ihej saw Eustum's grief ; and Euksh, 

the horse, 
With his head bowing to the ground, and 

mane 
Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute 

woe, 
First to the one then to the other moved 
His head, as if enquiring what their grief 
Might mean; and from his dark, compas- 
sionate eyes. 
The big, warm tears rolled down, and caked 

the sand. 
But Eustum chid him with stern voice, and 

said : 
" Euksh, now thou grievest ; but, Euksh, 

thy feet 
Bhould then have rotted on thy nimble joints. 
When first they bore thy master to this field." 
But Sohrab looked upon the horse and 

said; 
" Is this then Euksh ? How often, in past 

days, 



My mother told me of thee, thou bravt 

steed — 
My terrible father's terrible horse ! and said 
That I should one day find thy lord and 

thee. 
Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane. 
O Euksh, thou art more fortunate than I ; 
For thou hast gone where I shall never go. 
And snufifed the breezes of my father's home. 
And thou hast trod the sands of Se'istan, 
And seen the river of Helmund, and the 

lake 
Of Zirrah ; and the aged Zal himseK 
Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee 

food — 
Corn in a golden platter soaked with wine — 
And said — ' 0, Euksh ! bear Eustum well ! ' 

But I 
Have never known my grandsire's furrowed 

face, 
N'or seen his lofty house in Seistan, 
iN'or slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund 

stream ; 
But lodged among my father's foes, and 

seen 
Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, 
Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste, 
And the black Toorkmun tents ; and only 

drunk 
The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, 
Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed theii 

sheep. 
The northern Sir; and this great Oxus 

stream — 
The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die." 

And, with a heavy groan, Eustum replied : 
" Oh that its waves were flowing over me! 
Oh that I saw its grains of yellow silt 
Eoll tumbhng in the current o'er my head ! " 
And, with a grave, mild voice, Sohrab re- 
plied : 
"Desire not that, my father! Thou must | 

live ; 

For some are born to do great deeds, and live; 
As some are born to be obscured, and die. 
Do thou the deeds I die too young to do, 
And reap a second glory in thine age ; 
Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine. 
But come ! thou seest this great host of mer 
Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not 
these ! 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 



47i 



Let me entreat for them — what have they 

done? 
They followed me, my hope, my fame, my 

star. 
Let them all cross the Oxns hack in peace. 
But me thou must hear hence, not send with 

them, 
But carry me with thee to Seistan, 
And place me on a bed, and mourn for me — 
Thou, and the snow-haired Zal, and all thy 

friends. 
And thou must lay me in that lovely eartl], 
And heap a stately mound above my bones, 
And plant a far-seen pillar over all ; 
That so the passing horseman on the waste 
May see my tomb a great way off, and say : 
SoTirdb^ the mighty Eustmn's son^ lies there^ 
Whom his great father did in ignorance Mil — 
And I be not forgotten in my grave.'' 

And, with a mournful voice, Eustum re- 
plied : 
" Fear not ! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my 

son. 
So shall it be ; for I will burn my tents. 
And quit the host, and bear thee hence with 

me^ 
And carry thee away to Seistan, 
And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee. 
With the snow-headed Zal, and all my 

friends. 
And I will lay thee in that lovely earth. 
And heap a stately mound above thy bones. 
And plant a far-seen pillar over all ; 
And men shall not forget thee in thy grave ; 
And I will spare thy host — yea, let them 

go- 
Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. 
What should I do with slaying any more ? 
For would that all whom I have ever slain 
Might be once more alive — my bitterest foes. 
And they who were called champions in their 

time, 
Ar.i through whose death I won that fame I 

have — 
And I were nothing but a common man, 
A poor, mean soldier, and without renown ; 
So thou mightest live too, my son, my son ! 
Or rather, would that I, even I myself, 
Might now be lying on this bloody sand. 
Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of 

thine, 



Not thou of mine ; and I might die, not thou ; 

And I, not thou, be borne to Seifstan ; 

And Zal might weep above my grave, net 

thine ; 
And say — son^ I weei^ tliee not too sore^ 
For willingly^ I hnow^ thou mefst thine. 

end! — 
But now in blood and battles was my youth. 
And full of blood and battles is my age ; 
And I shall never end this life of blood." 
Then at the point of death, Sohrab re- 
plied : — 
" A hfe of blood indeed, thou dreadful man ! 
But thou shalt yet have peace ; only not now. 
Not yet. But thou shalt have it on that day 
When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship. 
Thou and the other peers of Kai-Khosroo, 
Eeturning home over the salt, blue sea. 
From laying thy dear master in his grave." 
And Eustum gazed on Sohrab's face, and 

said : — 
" Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea ! 
Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure." 
He spoke : and Sohrab smiled on him, and 

took 
The spear, and drew it from his side, and 

eased 
His wound's imperious anguish. But the 

blood 
Came welling from the open gash, and life 
Flowed with the stream ; all down his cole 

white side 
The crimson torrent ran, dim now, anc 

soiled — 
Like the soiled tissue of white violets 
Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank 
By romping children, whom their nurses call 
From the hot fields at noon. His head 

drooped low ; 
His limbs grew slack ; motionless, white, he 

lay- 
White, with eyes closed ; only when heavy 

gasps. 
Deep, heavy gasps, quivering through all his 

frame. 
Convulsed him back to life, he opened them. 
And fixed them feebly on his fiither's face. 
Till now all strength was ebbed, and from hw 

limbs 
Unwillingly the spirit fied away, 
Eegretting the warm mansion which it left, 



472 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



And youth and bloom, and this delightful 

world. 
So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead. 
And the great Eustum drew his horseman's 

cloak 
Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son. 
As those black granite pillars, once higli- 

r eared 
By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear 
His house, now, mid their broken flights of 

steps, 
Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side- 
So in the sand lay Rustum by his son. 
And niglit came down over the solemn 

waste. 
And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair. 
And darkened all ; and a cold fog, with night. 
Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose. 
As of a great assembly loosed, and fires 
Began to twinkle through the fog ; for now 
Both armies moved to camp, and took their 

meal; 
The Persians took it on the open sands 
Southward ; the Tartars by the river marge. 
And Eustum and his son were left alone. 

But the majestic river floated on, 
Out of the mist and hum of that low land. 
Into the frosty starlight, and there moved. 
Rejoicing, through the hushed Chorasmian 

waste. 
Under the solitary moon. He flowed 
Right for the polar star, past Orgunje, 
Brimming, and bright, and large. Then 

sands b^gin 
To hem his watery march, and dam his 

streams. 
And split his currents — that for many a 

league 
The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along 
Through beds of sand, and matted, rushy 

isles — 
Oxus forgetting the bright speed he had 
In his high mountain cradle in Pamere — 
A foiled, circuitous wanderer. Till at last 
The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and 

wide 
His luminous home of waters opens, bright 
. And tranquil, from whose floor the new- 
bathed stars 
Emerge, and shine upon the Aral sea. 

MATTnxw Arnold. 



iPHiGENEiA AXD agamem:n'o:n". 

Iphigexeia, wlien she heard her doom 
At Aulis, and when all beside the king 
Had gone away, took his right hand, and 

said: 
" father ! I am young and very happy. 
I do not think the pious Calchas heard 
Distinctly what the goddess spake ; — old age 
Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew 
My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood, 
While I was resting on her knee both arms, 
And hitting it to make her mind my words, 
And looking in her face, and she in mine, 
Might not he, also, hear one word amiss. 
Spoken from so far oflr, even from Olympus ? ' • 
The father placed his cheek upon her head. 
And tears dropt down it ; but the king of 

men 
Replied not. Then the maiden spake once 

more. 
"0 father! sajest thou nothing? Hearest 

thou not 
Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour, 
Listened to fondly, and awakened me 
To hear my voice amid the voice of birds, 
When it was inarticulate as theirs. 
And the down deadened it within the nest ? " 
He moved her gently from him, silent still; 
And this, and this alone, brought tears from 

her. 
Although she saw fate nearer. Then with 

sighs : 
" I thought to have laid down my hair before 
Benignant Artemis, and not dimmed 
Her polished altar with my virgin blood ; 
I thought to have selected the white flowers 
To please the nymphs, and to have asked ol 

each 
By name, and with no sorrowful regret. 
Whether, since both my parents willed the 

change, 
I might at Hymen's feet bend my dipt brow ; 
And (after these who mind us girls the most 
Adore our own Athene, that she would 
Regard me mildly with her azure eyes — 
But, father, to see you no more, and see 
Your love, father! go ere I am gone! " 
Gently he moved her off, and drew her back 
Bending his lofty head far over hers 



THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIN. 



473 



And the dark depths of nature heaved and 

burst. 
lie turned away — not far, but silent stiU. 
She now first shuddered ; for in him, so nigh, 
So long a silence seemed the approach of 

death, 
And like it. Once again she raised her voice : 
" O father ! if the ships are now detained. 
And all your vows move not the gods above, 
When the knife strikes me there will be one 

prayer 
The less to them ; and purer can there be 
Any, or more fervent, than the daughter's 

prayer 
For her dear father's safety and success ? " 
A groan that shook him shook not his resolve. 
An aged man now entered, and without 
One word, stepped slowly on, and took the 

wrist 
Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw 
The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes. 
Then turned she where her parent stood, and 

cried : 
"O father ! grieve no more the ships can 

sail." 

Waltek Savagh Landok. 



THE LAMENTATIOIN" FOR CELIK 

At the gate of old Granada, when all its bolts 
are barred, 

At twilight, at the Yega-gate, there is a 
trampling heard ; 

There is a trampling heard, as of horses tread- 
ing slow. 

And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy 
sound of woe. 

What tower is fallen? what star is set? w^hat 
chief comes these bewailing? 

** A tower is fallen, a star is set ! Alas ! alas 
for Celin ! " 

Tliree times they knock — three times they 
cry — and wide the doors they throw ; 

Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go ; 

[n gloomy lines they, mustering, stand be- 
neath the hollow porch, 

Each horseman grasping in his hand a black 
and flaming torch ; 



Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around 

is wailing. 
For all have heard the misery. — " Alas I alaa 

for Celin ! " 
Him, yesterday, a Moor did slay, of Bencer- 

raje's blood — 
'Twas at the solemn jousting — around the 

nobles stood ; 
The nobles of the land were by, and ladies 

bright and fair 
Looked from their latticed windows, the 

haughty sight to share ; 
But now the nobles all lament — the ladies are 

bewailing — 
For he was Granada's darling knight — "Alas! 

alas for Celin ! " 

Before him ride his vassals, in order two by 
two, 

With ashes on their turbans spread, most piti- 
ful to view ; 

Behind him his four sisters, each wrapped in 
sable veil, 

Between the tambour's dismal strokes take 
up their doleful tale ; 

When stops the muffled drum ye hear their 
brotherless bewailing. 

And all the people, far and near, cry — "Alas! 
alas for Celin ! " 

Oh! lovely lies he on the bier, above the 
purple pall, — 

The flower of all Granada's youth, the love- 
liest of them all ; 

His dark, dark e^^es are closed ; his rosy lip is 
pale; 

The crust of blood lies black and dim upon 
his burnished mail ; 

And ever more the hoarse tambour breaks in 
upon their wailing — 

Its sound is like no earthly sound — "Alas! 
alas for Colin ! " 

The Moorish maid at the lattice stands — the 

• Moor stands at his door ; 
One maid is wringing of her hands, and one 

is weeping sore ; 
Down to the dust men bow their heads, and 

ashes black they strew 
Upon their broidered garments of crimson 

green and blue ; 



iU 



POEMS or TRAGEDY AND SORROW, 



Before each gate the bier stands still — tlien 

bursts the loud bewailing 
From door and lattice, high and low — *' Alas! 

alas for Celin 1 " 

An old, old woman cometli forth^ when she 

hears the people cry — 
Iler hair is white as silver, like horn her 

glazed eye : 
'T was she that nursed him at her breast — 

that nursed him long ago ; 
She knows not whom they all lament, but 

soon she well shall know ! 
With one deep shriek, she through doth break, 
when her ears receive their wailing — 
•' Let me kiss my Celin ere I die — Alas ! alas 
. for Celin!" 

Moorish Ballad. 
Translation of J. G. Lookhaet. 



A VERY MOURIsTFUL BALLAD. 

ex THE SIEGE AXD CONQUEST OF ALHAMA, 

WHICH, IX THE AEABIC LANGUAGE, IS 

TO THE FOLLOWING PUEPOET : 

The Moorish king rides up and down 
Through Granada's royal town; 
From Elvira's gates to those 
Of Bivarambla on he goes. 

Wo is me^ Alhama ! 

Letters to the monarch tell 
HoAV Albania's city fell : 
In the fire the scroU he threw, 
And the messenger he slew. 

Wo is me^ Alliama ! 

He quits his mule and mounts his horse. 
And through the street directs his course ; 
Through the street of Zacatin 
To the Alhambra spurring in. 

Wo is me^ Alliama ! 

When the Alhambra's walls he gained. 
On the moment he ordained 
That the trumpet straight should sound 
With the silver clarion round. 

Wo is me^ Alhama! 



And when the hollow drums of war 
Beat the loud alarm afar. 
That the Moors of town and plain 
Might answer to the martial strain. 

Wo is 7ne, Alhama ! 

Then the Moors, by this aware 
That bloody Mars recalled them there, 
One by one, and two by two, 
To a mighty squadron grew. 

Wo is me^ Alhamu ' 

Out then spake an aged Moor, 
In these words the king before : 
"Wherefore call on us, king? 
What may mean this gatheringT'^ 

Wo is me^ Alhama I 

"Friends! ye have, alas! to know 
Of a most disastrous blow — 
That the Christians, stern and bold, 
Have obtained Albania's hold." 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

Out then spake old Alfaqui, 
With his beard so white to see : 
" Good king ! thou art justly served- - 
Good king ! this thou hast deserved. 

Wo is me^ Alhama ! 

"By thee were slain, in evil hour, 
The Abencerrage, Granada's flower : 
And strangers were received by thee. 
Of Cordova the chivalry. 

Wo is me^ Alhama ! 

"And for this, king! is sent 
On thee a double chastisement ; 
Thee and thine, thy crown and realm, 
One last wreck shall overwhelm. 

Wo is me^ A Ihama I 

" He who holds no laws in awe. 
He must perish by the law ; 
And Granada must be won. 
And thyself with her undone." 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

Fire flashed from out the old Moor's eyee 
The monarch's wrath began to rise : 



THE FISHERMEN. 



475 



Because he answerer!, and because 
He spake exceeding well of laws. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

** There is n j law to say such things 
As may disgust the ear of kings : " — 
Thus, snorting with his choler, said 
The Moorish king, and doomed him dead. 
Wo is me, Alhama! 

Moor Alfaqui ! Moor Alfaqui ! 
Though thy beard so hoary be, 
The king hath sent to have thee seized, 
For Alhama's loss displeased — 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

And to fix thy head upon 
High Alhambra's loftiest stone ; 
That this for thee should be the law. 
And others tremble when they saw. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

'* Cavalier, and man of worth ! 
Let these words of mine go forth ; 
Let the Moorish monarch know 
That to him I nothing owe. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" But on my soul Alhama weighs, 
And on my inmost spirit preys ; 
And if the king his land hath lost, 
Yet others may have lost the most. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

" Sires have lost their children, wives 
Their lords, and valiant men their lives; 
One what best his love might claim 
Hath lost ; another, wealtlS or fame. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

"I lost a damsel in that hour, 
Of all the land the loveliest flower ; 
Doubloons a hundred I would pay, 
And think her ransom cheap that day." 
Wo is me, Alhama ! 

And as these things the old Moor said. 
They severed from the trunk his head ; 
And to the Alhambra's walls with speed 
'T was carried, as the king decreed. 

Wo is me. Alhama ! 



And men and infants therein weep 
Their loss, so heavy and so deep ; 
Granada's ladies, all she rears 
"Within her walls, burst into tears. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

And from the windows o'er the wahs 

The sable web of mourning falls ; 

The king weeps as a woman o'er 

His loss, for it is much and sore. 

Wo is me, Alhama ! 

Anontmofs (Spanish) 
Translation of Lokd Byron. 



THE FISHEEMEN. 

Three fishers went sailing out into the 
west — 
Out into the west as the sun went down ; 
Each thought of the woman who loved him 
the best, 
And the children stood watching them out 
of the town ; 
For men must work, and women must weep; 
And there 's little to earn, and many to keep, 
Though the harbor bar be moaning. 

Three wives sat up in the light-house tower 
And trimmed the lamps as the sun went 
down ; 
And they looked at the squall, and they 
looked at the shower. 
And the rack it came rolling up, ragged 
and brown ; 
But men must work, and women must weep. 
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, 
And the harbor bar be moaning. 

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 
In the morning gleam as tlie tide went 
down. 
And the women are watching and wringing 
their hands, 
For those who will never come back to 
the town ; 
For men must work, and women must 

weep — 
And the sooner it's over, the sooner tc 
sleep — 
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning 

CnAH'.tt KlNGSLET. 



i76 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



THE PRISONER CF OHILLOK 

Eternal spirit of the 3liaiiiless mind ! 
Brightest in dungeons, liberty, thou art, 
For there thy habitation is the heart — 
The heart which love of thee alone can bind ; 
And when thy sons to fetters are consigned — 
To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless 

gloom — 
Their country conquers with their martyr- 
dom, 
And freedom's fame finds wings on every 

wind. 
Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, 

And thy sad floor an altar — for 't was trod 
Until his very steps have left a trace. 

Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
By Bonnivard! — May none those marks ef- 
face! 
For they appeal from tyranny to God. 



My hair is gray, but not with years, 
jS[or grew it white 
In a single night, 
As men's have grown from sudden fears ; 
My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, 

But rusted with a vile repose ; 
For they have been a dungeon's spoil, 

And mine has been the fate of those 
To whom the goodly earth and air 
Are banned and barred — forbidden fare. 
But this was for my father's faith 
I suffered chains and courted death. 
That father perished at the stake 
For tenets he would not forsake ; 
And for the same his lineal race 
In darkness found a dwelling-place. 
We were seven, who now are one — 

Six in youth, and one in age, 
Finished as they had begun. 

Proud of persecution's rage ; 
One in fire, and two in field. 
Their belief with blood have sealed- 
Dying as their father died. 
For the God their foes denied ; 
Three were in a dungeon cast. 
Of whom this wreck is '.eft the ^ast 



II. 
There are seven pillars, of Gothic mould, 
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old ; 
There are seven columns, massy and gray. 
Dim with a dull imprisoned ray — 
A sunbeam which hath lost its way, 
And through the crevice and the cleft 
Of the thick wall is fallen and left 
Creeping o'er the floor so damp. 
Like a marsh's meteor lamp; 
And in each pillar there is a ring, 

And in each ring there is a chain ; 
That iron is a cankering thing. 

For in these limbs its teeth remain^ 
With marks that will not wear away 
Till I have done with this new day. 
Which now is painful to these eyes, 
Which have not seen the sun so rise 
For years — I cannot count them o'er , 
I lost their long and heavy score 
When my last brother drooped and died. 
And I lay living by his side. 

III. 

They chained us each to a column stc no ? 
And we were three — yet, each alone 
We could not move a single pace ; 
We could not see each other's face. 
But with that pale and livid light 
That made us strangers in our sight ; 
And thus together, yet apart — 
Fettered in hand, but joined in neart ; 
'T was still some solace, in the dearth 
Of the pure elements of earth, 
To hearken to each other's speech. 
And each turn comforter to each — 
With some new hope, or legend old, 
Or song heroically bold ; 
But even these at length grew cold. 
Our voices took a dreary tone, 
An echo of the dungeon-stone, 

A grating sound — not full and freo, 
As they of yore were wont to bo ; 
It might be fancy — but to me 
They never sounded like our own* 

IV. 

I was the eldest of the three, 

And to uphold and cheer the rest 
I ought to do, and did, my best— 

And each did well in his degree. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



477 



The youngest, whom my father loved, 
Because our mother's brow was given 
To him — with eyes as blue as heaven — 

For him my soul was sorely moved ; 
And truly might it be distrest 
To see such bird in such a nest ; 
For he was beautiful as day 

(When day Avas beautiful to me 

As to young eagles, being free), 

A polar day, which will not see 
A sunset till its summer 's gone — 

Its sleepless summer of long hght, 
The snow-clad offspring of the sun : 

And thus he was, as pure and bright, 
And in his natural spirit gay, 
With tears for naught but other's ills ; 
And then they flow^ed like mountain rills, 
Unless he could assuage the woe 
Which he abhorred to view b«low. 



The other was as pure of mind, 
But formed to combat with his kind ; 
Strong in his frame, and of a mood 
Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, 
And perished in the foremost rank 

With joy ; but not in chains to pine. 
His spirit withered with their clank ; 

I saw it silently decline — 

And so, perchance, in sooth, did mine ! 
But yet I forced it on, to cheer 
Those relics of a home so dear. 
He was a hunter of the hills, 

Had followed there the deer and wolf; 
To him this dungeon was a gulf, 
And fettered feet the worst of ills. 

VI. 

Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls. 
A thousand feet in depth below. 
Its massy waters meet and flow; 
Thus much the fathom-line w^as sent 
From Chillon's snow-white battlement. 

Which round about the wave enthrals ; 
A double dungeon wall and wave 
Have made — and like a living grave, 
Below the surface of the lake 
The dark vault lies wherein we lay ; 
We heard it ripple night and day ; 

Sounding o'er our heads it knocked. 
,\nd I have felt the winter's spray 



Wash through the bars when winds wer< 
high, 

And wanton in the happy sky ; 

And then the very rock hath rocked, 
And I have felt it shake, unshocked ; 

Because I could have smiled to see 

The death that would have set me free. 

VII. 

I said my nearer brother pined ; 
I said his mighty heart declined. 
He loathed and put away his food ; 
It w^as not that 't was coarse and rude. 
For we were used to hunter's fare, 
And for the like had little care. 
The milk drawn from the mountain goal 
Was changed for water from the moat ; 
Our bread w^as such as captives' tears 
Have moistened many a thousand years, 
Since man first pent his fellow-men. 
Like brutes, within an iron den. 
But what were these to us or him ? 
These wasted not his heart or limb ; 
My brotheo-'s soul was of that mould 
Which in a palace had grown cold, 
Had his free breathing been denied 
The range of the steep mountain's side. 
But why delay the truth ? — he died. 
I saw, and could not hold his head, 
l^ov reach his dying hand — ^nor dead, 
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, 
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 
He died — and they unlocked his chain, 
And scooped for him a shallow grave 
Even from the cold earth of our cave. 
I begged them, as a boon, to lay 
His corse in dust whereon the day 
Might shine — it was a foolish thought ; 
But then within my brain it wrought. 
That even in death his freeborn breast 
In such a dungeon could not rest. 
I might have spared my idle prayei- 
They coldly laughed, and laid him tbertj, 
The flat and turfless earth above 
The being we so much did love ; 
llis empty chain above it leant — 
Such murder's fitting monument ! 

VIII. 

But he, the favorite and the flower, 
Most cherished since liis natal hour, 



478 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



His mother's image in fair face, 
The infant love of all his race, 
His martyred father's dearest thought, 
My latest care — for whom I sought 
To hoard my life, that his might he 
Less wretched now, and one day free- 
He, too, who yet had held untired 
A spirit natural or inspired — 
He, too, was struck, and day hy day 
Was withered on the stalk away. 

God I it is a fearful thing 

To see the human soul take wing 
In any shape, in any mood : 

1 've seen it rushing forth in hlood ; 
I 've seen it on the breaking ocean 
Strive with a swollen, convulsive motion; 
I 've seen the sick and ghastly bed 

Of sin, delirious with its dread ; 

But these were horrors — this was woe 

Unmixed with such — hut sure and slow. 

He faded, and so calm and meek, 

So softly worn, so sweetly weak, 

So tearless, yet so tender — kind, 

And grieved for those he left behind ; 

With all the while a cheek whose bloom 

Was as a mockery of the tomb. 

Whose tints as gently sunk away 

As a departing rainbow's ray — 

An eye of most transparent light. 

That almost made the dungeon bright. 

And not a word of murmur, not 

A groan o'er his untimely lot — 

A little talk of better days, 

A little hope my own to raise ; 

For I was sunk in silence — ^lost 

In this last loss, of all the most. 

And then the sighs he would suppress 

Of fainting nature's feebleness, 

More slowly drawn, grew less and less. 

1 listened, but I could not hear — 

I called, for I was wild with fear ; 

I knew 't was hopeless, but my di^ead 

Would not be thus admonished ; 

called, and thought I heard a sound — 
I burst my chain with one strong bound, 
And rushed to him : I found lam not. 
I only stirred in this black spot ; 
[ only lived — I only Qi^ew 
The accursed breath of dungeon-dew ; 
The last, the sole, the dearest link 
Between me and the eternal brink. 



WhicH bound me to my failing race. 
Was Droken in this fatal place. 
One on the earth, and one beneath — 
My brothers — both had ceased to breathe. 
I took that hand which lay so still — 
Alas ! my own was full as chiU ; 
I had not strength to stir or strive. 
But felt that I was still alive — 
A frantic feeling, when we know 
That what we love shall ne'er be so. 

I know not why 

I could not die, 
I had no earthly hope — but faith, 
And that forbade a selfish death. 

IX. 

What next befell me then and there 
I know not well — I never knew. 

First came the loss of light and air, 
And then af darkness too. 

I had no thought, no feeling — none : 

Among the stones I stood a stone ; 

And was, scarce conscious what I wist. 

As shrubless crags within the mist ; 

For all was blank, and bleak, and gray ; 

It was not night — it was not day; 

It was not even the dungeon-light, 

So hateful to my heavy sight ; 

But vacancy absorbing space, 

And fixedness, without a place ; 

There were no stars, no earth, no time, 

Xo check, no change, no good, no crime 
I But silence, and a stirless breath 

Which neither was of life nor death — 

A sea of stagnant idleness. 

Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless. 



A light broke in upon my brain — 

It was the carol of a bird ; 
It ceased, and then it came again — 
The sweetest song ear ever heard ; 
And mine was thankful till my eyes 
Ran over with the glad surprise, 
And they that moment could not see 
I was the mate of mi^^ery ; 
But then, by dull degrees came back 
My senses to their wonted track : 
I saw the dungeon walls and floor 
Close slowly round me as before ; 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



479 



I saw the glimmer of the sun 
Creeping as it before had done ; 
But through th<i crevice where it came 
That bird was perched as fond and tame, 

And tamer than upon the tree — 
A lovely bird with azure wings, 
And song that said a thousand things, 

And seemed to say them all for me ! 
I never saw its like before — 
I ne'er shall see its likeness more. 
It seemed, like me, to want a mate. 
But was not half so desolate ; 
And it was come to love me when 
None lived to love me so again. 
And, cheering from my dungeon's brink. 
Had brought me back to feel and think. 
I know not if it late were free. 

Or broke its cage to perch on mine ; 
J8ut knowing well captivity. 

Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine — 
Or if it were, in winged guise, 
A visitant from Paradise ; 
For — heaven forgive that thought, the while 
Which made me both to weep and smile ! — 
I sometimes deemed that it might be 
My brother's soul come down to me ; 
But then at last away it flew, 
And then 't was mortal well 1 knew ; 
For he would never thus have flown. 
And left me twice so doubly lone — 
Lone as the corse within its shroud. 
Lone as a solitary cloud, 

A single cloud on a sunny day. 
While all the rest of heaven is clear, 
A frown upon the atmosphere, 
That hath no business to appear 

When skies are blue, and earth is gay. 



A kind of change came in ray fate — 
My keepers grew compassionate. 

know not what had made them so — 
They were inured to sights of woe ; 
But so it was — my broken chain 
With links unfastened did remain ; 
And it was liberty to stride 
Along my cell from side to side, 
And up and down, and then athwart, 
And tread it over every part ; 
And round the pillars one by one. 
Returning where my walk begun — 



Avoiding only, as I trod, 

My brothers' graves without a sod • 

For if I thought with heedless tread 

My step profaned their lowly bed, 

My breath came gaspingly and thick. 

And my crushed heart fell blind and sick. 

XII. 

I made a footing in the wall : 
It was not therefrom to escape, 

For I had buried one and all 

Who loved me in a human shape ; 

And the whole earth would henceforth Irj 

A wider prison unto me ; 

Ko child, no sire, no kin had I, 

No partner in my misery. 

I thought of this, and I was glad, 

For thought of them had made me mad • 

But I Avas curious to ascend 

To my barred windows, and to bend 

Once more upon the mountains high 

The quiet of a loving eye. 

XIII. 

I saw them — and tliey were the same ; 
They were not changed, like me, in frame : 
I saw their thousand years of snow 
On high — their wide, long lake below, 
And the blue Rhone in fullest flow ; 
I heard the torrents leap and gush 
O'er channelled rock and broken bush ; 
I saw the white- walled distant town. 
And whiter sails go skimming down ; 
And then there was a little isle, 
Which in my very face did smile — 

The only one in view ; 
A small, green isle, it seemed no more. 
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor ; 
But in it there were three tall trees, 
And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, 
And by it there were waters flowing, 
And on it there were young flowers growing 

Of gentle breath and hue. 
The fish swam by the castle wall, 
And they seemed joyous, each and all ; 
The eagle rode the rising blast — 
Methought he never flew so fast 
As then to mo he seemed to fly ; 
And then new tears came in my eye, 
And I felt troubled, and would fain 
I had not left my recent chain ; 



480 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Ana wlien I did descend again. 
The darkress of mj dim abode 
Fell on me as a heavy load ; 
[t was as is a new-dug grave, 
Closing o'er one we sought to save ; 
And yet my glance, too much opprest, 
Had almost need of such a rest. 

XIV. 

It might be months, or years, or days — 

I kept no count, I took no note — 
I had no hope my eyes to raise, 

A.nd Clear them of their dreary mote ; 
At last came men to set me free, 

I asked not why, and recked not where ; 
It was at length the same to me. 
Fettered or fetterless to be ; 

1 ^earned to love despair. 
And thus, when they appeared at last, 
And all my bonds aside were cast. 
These heavy walls to me had grown 
A hermitage — and all my own ! 
And half I felt as they were come 
To tear me from a sacred home. 
Wi Ml spiders I had friendship made. 
And watched them in their sullen trade ; 
Had seen the mice by moonlight play — 
And why should I feel less than they ? 
We were all inmates of one place. 
And I, the monarch of each race. 
Had power to kill ; yet, strange to tell ! 
In quiet we had learned to dwell. 
My very chains and I grew friends. 
So much a long communion tends 
To make us what we are : — even I 
Regained my freedom with a sigh. 

Lord Byron. 



THE SEA. 

Throtjuh the night, through the night. 

In the saddest unrest. 
Wrapt in white, all in white, 

With her babe on her breast. 
Walks the mother so pale, 
Staring out on the gale 

Through the night ! 



Through the night, through the night, 
Where the sea lifts the wreck. 

Land in sight, close in sight. 
On the surf-flooded deck 

Stands the father so brave. 

Driving on to his grave 
Through the night ! 

EiCHARD Henry Stoddabd. 



THE KING OF DEISTMARK'S RIDE. 

WoED was brought to the Danish king 

(Hurry!) 
That the love of his heart lay suffering. 
And pined for the comfort his voice would 
bring; 

(Oh ! ride as though you were flying !) 
Better he loves each golden curl 
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl 
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl ; 
And his rose of the isles is dying \ 

Thirty nobles saddled with speed ; 

(Hurry!) 
Each one mounting a gallant steed 
Which he kept for battle and days of need ; 

(Oh I' ride as though you were flying !) 
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank ; 
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank ; 
Bridles were slackened, and girths were bu rst ; 
But ride as they would, the king rode first, 
For his rose of the isles lay dying ! 

His nobles are beaten, one by one ; 

(Hurry !) 
They have fainted, and faltered, and home- 
ward gone ; 
His little fair page now follows alone. 

For strength and for courage trying ! 
The king looked back at that faithful child ; 
Wan was the face that answering smiled ; 
They passed the drawbridge with clattering 

din, 
Then he dropped ; and only the king rode it. 
Where his rose of the isles lay dying! 

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn ; 

(Silence!) 
ITo answer came ; but faint and forlorn 
An echo returned on the cold grey morn. 



LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 



481 



Like the breath of a spirit sighing. 
The castle portal stood grimly wide ; 
Kone welcomed the king from that w^earj 

ride; 
For dead, in the light of the dawning day, 
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, 
Who had yearned for his voice while dying ! 

The panting steed, with a drooping crest, 

Stood w^eary. 
The king returned from her chamber of rest, 
The thick sobs choking in his breast ; 

And, that dumb companion eyeing, 
The tears gushed forth which he strove to 

check ; 
He bowed his head on his charger's neck : 
"0 steed — that every nerve didst strain, 
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain 
To the halls where my love lay dying ! " 
Caroline Noeton. 



LOED ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound. 
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry ! 

And I '11 give thee a silver pound 
To row us o'er the ferry." 

" Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy water ? " 

" Oh, I 'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 
And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 

"And fast before her father's men 
Three days we've fled togetlier ; 

For should he find us in the glen. 
My blood would stain the heather. 

*'* His horsemen hard behind us ride ; 

Should they our steps discover. 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride 

When they have slain her lover ? " 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
"I 'L go, my chief — I 'm ready. 

It is not for your silver bright, 
But for your winsome lady. 
65 



"And by my word ! the bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry ; 
So though the waves are raging white, 

I '11 row you o'er the ferry." 

By this the storm grew loud apace ; 

The water- wraith was shrieking ; 
And in the scowl of heaven each face 

Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind, 
And as the night grew drearer, 

Adown the glen rode armed men — 
Their trampling sounded nearer. 

" haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries, 
"Though tempests round us gather ; 

I '11 meet the raging of the skies, 
But not an angry father." 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her — 
When, oh ! too strong for human hand, 

The tempest gathered o'er her. 

And still they rowed amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing — 
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore ; 

His wrath was changed to w^ailing. 

For sore dismayed, through storm and 
shade 

His child he did discover ; 
One lovely hand she stretched for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 

" Come back ! come back ! " he cried in 
grief, 

"Across this stormy water ; 
And I '11 forgive your Highland chief. 

My daughter ! — my daughter ! " 

'Twas vain: — the loud waves lashed tlio 
shore. 

Return or aid preventing. 
The waters wild w^ent o'er his child. 

And he was left lamenting. 



tse 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



ON THE LOSS OF THE EOYAL GEORGE. 

WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS AERIYED. 

Toll for the brave — 

The brave that are no more ! 

All sunk beneath the wave, 
Fast by their native shore ! 

Eight hundred of the brave, 
Whose courage well was tried, 

Had made the vessel heel. 
And laid her on her side. 

A .and breeze shook the shrouds, 

And she was overset — 
Down went the Royal George, 

With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave ! 

Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
His last sea-fight is fought, 

His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle ; 

1^0 tempest gave the shock ; 
She sprang no fatal leak ; 

She ran upon no rock. 

His sword was in its sheath ; 

His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down 

With twice four hundred men. 

Weigh the vessel up. 

Once dreaded by our foes ! 

And mingle with our cup 
The tear that England owes. 

Her timbers yet are sound. 
And she may float again. 

Full charged with England's thunder, 
And plough the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone — 

His victories are o'er ; 
And he and his eight hundred 

Shall plough the waves no more. 

William Cowper. 



THE INCHOAPE ROCK. 

^o stir in the air, no stir in the sea — 
The ship was still as she might be ; 
Her sails from heaven received no mrtion; 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 

Without either sign or sound of their shock, 
The waves flowed over the Inchcape rock ; 
So little they rose, so little they fell. 
They did not move the Inchcape bell. 

The holy abbot of Aberbrothok 

Had floated that bell on the Inchcape rock ; 

On the waves of the storm it floated and 

swung. 
And louder and louder its warning rung. 

When the rock was hid by the tempest's swell, 
The mariners heard the warning bell ; 
And then they knew the perilous rock, 
And blessed the priest of Aberbrothok, 

The sun in heaven shone so gay — 

All things were joyful on that day ; 

The sea-birds screamed as they sported round, 

And there was pleasure in their sound. 

The float of the Inchcape bell was seen, 
A darker speck on the ocean green ; 
Sir Ralph the rover walked his deck, 
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 

He felt the cheering power of spring — 
It made him whistle, it made him sing ; 
His heart was mirthful to excess ; 
But the rover's mirth was wickedness. 

His eye was on the bell and float : 
Quoth he, " My men, pull out the boat ; 
And row me to the Inchcape rock. 
And I '11 plague the priest of Aberbrothok,'' 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row. 
And to the Inchcape rock they go ; 
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat. 
And cut the warning bell from the float. 

Down sank the bell w^ith a gurgling sound ; 
The bubbles rose, and burst around. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 



48^ 



Quoth Sir Ralph, '' The next who comes to 

the rock 
Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothok." 

Sir Ralph the rover sailed away* — 
He scoured the seas for many a day ; 
And now, grown rich with plundered store, 
He steers his course to Scotland's shore. 

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, 
They could not see the sun on high ; 
The wind had blown a gale all day ; 
At evening it hath died away. 

On the deck the rover takes his stand ; 
So dark it is, they see no land. 
:5uoth Sir Ralph, " It will be lighter soon, 
For there is the dawn of the rising moon." 

"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? 
For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. 
Now where we are I cannot tell, 
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell." 

They hear no sound ; the swell is strong ; 
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along ; 
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock — 
Christ ! it is the Inchcape rock ! 

Egbert Southey. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

It was the schooner Hesperus 

That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter. 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax. 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds. 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm ; 

His pipe Avas in his mouth ; 
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke, now west, now south. 



Then up and spake an old sailor. 

Had sailed the Spanish main : 
" I pray thee, put into yonder port, 

For I fear a hurricane. 



"Last night the moon had a golden ring, 
And to-night no moon we see ! " 

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the northeast ; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine. 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 



Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed. 

Then leaped her cable's length. 



" Come hither! come hither! my little daugli- 
ter. 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 



He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coal 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar. 

And bound her to the mast. 



" fjither ! I hear the church-bells ring ; 

OL say, what may it be ? " 
" 'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast! " 

And he steered for the open sea. 

"0 father! I hear the sound of guns; 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 

" father ! I see a gleaming light ; 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
But the ftither answered never a word — 

A frozen corpse was he. 



184 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies, 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming 
snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and 
l)rayed 
That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the 
wave 
On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and 
drear, 

Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever, the fitful gusts between, 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows ; 

She drifted a dreary wreck ; 
And a whooping billow swept the crew, 

Like icicles, from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool ; 
But the cruel rocks they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

llev rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice. 
With the mast went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank — 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! I 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair. 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed. 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow ; 

?A\r\3t save us all from a death like this, 
On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 

Benry "Wads worth Longfellow. 



THE MARINEE'S DREAM. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay ; 
His hammock swung loose at the sport oi 
the wind ; 
But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew 
away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his 
mind. 

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native 

bowers. 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry 

morn; 
While memory stood sideways half covered 

with flowers. 
And restored every rose, but secreted its 

thorn. 

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade tlie young dreamer in ecstasy 

rise ; 
Now far, far behind him the green watei-a 

glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his 

eyes. 

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the 
thatch. 
And the swallow chirps sweet from her 
nest in the wall ; 
All trembling with transport, he raises the 
latch. 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his 
call. 

A father bends o'er him with looks of de- 
light; 
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm 
tear; 
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 
With the lips of the maid whom his bosom 
holds dear. i 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his 
breast ; 

Joy quickens his pulses — ^liis hardships seeiE 
o'er; 



HOW'S MY BOY. 



485 



A.iid a murmur of happiness steals through 
his rest — 
" God ! thou hast blest me— I ask for no 



Ah' whence is that flame which now bursts 
on his eye ? 
Ah! what is that sound which no\\r 'larms 
on his ear ? 
'T is the lightning's red gleam, painting hell 
on the sky ! 
'T is the crashing of thunders, the groan of 
the sphere I 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to 
the deck ; 
Amazement confronts him with images 
dire; 
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel 
a wreck ; 
The masts fly in splinters ; the shrouds are 
on fire. 

Like mountains the billows tremendously 
swell ; 
Ic vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to 
save; 
Cnseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 
And the death-angel flaps his broad wings 
o'er the wave ! 

sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight ! 
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work 
of bliss. 
Where now is the picture that fancy touched 
bright — 
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's 
honeyed kiss ? 

sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again 
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes 
repay ; 
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the 
main. 
Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for 
thee. 
Or redeem form or fame from the merciless 
surge , 



But the white foam of waves shall thy wind- 
ing-sheet be. 
And winds in the midnight of winter thy 
dirge ! 

On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall 
be laid — 
Around th}'- white bones the red coral shall 
grow ; 
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be 
made, 
And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle 
away. 
And still the vast waters above thee shall 
roll; 
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye — 
O sailor boy ! sailor boy ! peace to thy 
soul I 

William Dimond. 



HOW'S MY BOY? 

" Ho, sailor of the sea ! 

How 's my boy — my boy ? " 

'' What 's your boy's name, good wife. 

And in what good ship sailed he ? " 

" My boy John — 
He that went to sea — 
What care I for the ship, sailor ? 
xMy boy's my boy to me. 

'^ You come back from sea, 
And not know my John ? 
I might as well have asked some lands- 
man. 
Yonder down in the town. 
There 's not an ass in all the parish 
But knows my John. 

'' How 's my boy — my boy ? 
And unless you let me know 
I '11 swear 3'ou are no sailor, 
Blue jacket or no — 
Brass buttons or no, sailor, 
Anchor and crown or no — 



1:86 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Sure his ship was the ' Jolly Briton' " — 
" Speak low, woman, speak low !" 

'' And why should I speak low, sailor, 

About my own boy John ? 

If I was loud as I am proud 

I 'd sing him over the town ! 

Why should I speak low, sailor? " — 

" That good ship went down." 

'' How 's my boy — my boy ? 

What care I for the ship, sailor — 

I was never aboard her. 

Be she afloat or be she aground, 

Sinking or swimming, I '11 be bound 

Her owners can afford her ! 

I say, how 's my John ? " — 

" Every man on board went down, 

Every man aboard her." 

" How 's my boy — ^my boy ? 
What care I for the men, sailor ? 
I 'm not their mother — 
How 's my boy — my boy ? 
Tell me of him and no other ! 
How 's my boy — ^my boy ? " 

Sydney Dobbll. 



Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weathei. 

When He, who all commands. 
Shall give, to call life's crew together. 

The word to pipe all hands. 
Thus death, who kings and tars despatche^a 

In vain Tom's life has doffed ; 
For, though his body's under hatches. 

His soul is gone aloft. 

Chaeles Dibdin. 



TOM BOWLIXG. 

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, 

The darling of our crew ; 
ISTo more he '11 hear the tempest howling — 

For death has broached him to. 
His form was of the manliest beauty ; 

His heart was kind and soft ; 
Faithful below, he did his duty ; 

But now he 's gone aloft. 

Tom never from his word departed — 

His virtues were so rare ; 
His friends were many and true-heai'ted ; 

His Poll was kind and fair. 
And then he 'd sing so blithe and jolly — 

Ah, many's the time and oft ! 
But mirth is turned to melancholy, 
For Tom is gone aloft. 



THE MOON WAS A- WANING, 

The moon was a- waning, 

The tempest was over : 
Fair was the maiden, 

And fond was the lover ; 
But the snow was so deep 

That his heart it grew weary ; 
And he sunk down to sleep. 

In the moorland so dreary. 

Soft was the bed 

She had made for her lover, 
White wxre the sheets 

And embroidered the cover ; 
But his sheets are mere white, 

And his canopy grander ; 
And sounder he sleeps 

Where the hill foxes wander. 

Alas, pretty maiden, 

What sorrows attend you ! 
I see you sit shivering, 

W^ith lights at your window ; 
But long may you wait 

Ere your arms shall enclose him • 
For still, still he lies. 

With a wreath on his bosom ! 

How painful the task 

The sad tidings to tell yon!- - 
An orphan you were 

Ere this misery befeU you ; 
And far in yon wild, 

Where the dead-tapers hover, 
So cold, cold and wan. 

Lies the corpse of your lover ! 

James liooo. 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 



48*: 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE AEAM. 

'T WAS in the prime of summer time, 

An evening calm and cool, 
And four-and-twenty happy boys 

Came bounding out of school ; 
There were some that ran and some that 
leapt, 

Like troutlets in a pool. 

Away they sped with gamesome minds 

And souls untouched by sin ; 
To a level mead they came, and there 

Tliey drave the wickets in : 
Pleasantly shone the setting sun 

Over the town of Lynn. 

Like sportive deer they coursed about, 

And shouted as they ran — 
Turning to mirth all things of earth, 

As only boyhood can ; 
But the usher sat remote from all, 

A melancholy man ! 

His hat was off, his vest apart. 
To catch heaven's blessed breeze; 

For a burning thought was in his brow, 
And his bosom ill at ease ; 

So he leaned his head on hi^ hands, and 
read 
The hook between his knees ! 

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, 

Nor ever glanced aside ; 
For the peace of his soul he read that book 

In the golden eventide ; 
Much study had made him very lean, 

And pale, and leaden eyed. 

At last he shut the ponderous tome; 

With a fast and fervent grasp 
fie strained the dusky covers close, 

And fixed tlie brazen hasp : 
• ( ), God I could I so close my mind 

And clasp it with a clasp ! '■ 

Then leaping on his feet upright, 
Some moody turns he took — 



Now up the mead, then down the mead. 

And past a shady nook — 
And, lo ! he saw a little boy 

That pored upon a book ! 

"My gentle lad, what is 't you read- 
Romance or fairy fable ? 

Or is it some historic page, 

Of kings and crowns unstable ? " 

The young boy gave an upward glanco— • 
"It is ' The Death of Abel.' '^ 



The usher took six hasty strides, 
As smit with sudden pain — 

Six hasty strides beyond the place. 
Then slowly back again ; 

And down he sat beside the lad, 
And talked with him of Cain ; 



And, long since then, of bloody men, 
Whose deeds tradition saves ; 

And lonely folk cut off unseen, 
And hid in sudden graves ; 

And horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, 
And murders done in caves ; 

And how the sprites of injured men 
Shriek upward from the sod ; 

Aye, how the ghostly hand will point 
To show the burial clod ; 

And unknown facts of guilty acts 
Are seen in dreams from God I 



He told how murderers walk the earth 
Beneath the curse of Cain — 

With crimson clouds before their eyes, 
And flames about their brain ; 

For blood has left upon their souls 
Its everlasting stain ! 



"And well," quoth lie, "I know, f')i 
truth. 

Their pangs must be extreme- 
Woe, woe, unutterable woe — 

Who spill life's sacred stream ! 
For why ? Methought, last night I wrougiw 

A murder, in a dream ! 



188 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AXD SORROW. 



" One that had never done me wrong — 

A feeble man and old ; 
I led him to a lonelj fieid — 

The moon shone clear and cold : 
Now here, said I, this man shall die, 

And I will have his gold ! 

^' Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, 
And one with a heavy stone, 

One hurried gash with a hasty knife — 
And then the deed was done : 

There was nothing lying at my feet 
But lifeless flesh and bone ! 

*' ]:^othing but lifeless flesh and bone. 

That could not do me ill ; 
And yet I feared him all the more, 

For lying there so still : 
There was a manhood in his look, 

That murder could not kill ! 

^ And, lo ! the universal air 
Seemed lit with ghastly flame ; — 

len thousand thousand dreadful eyes 
Were looking down in blame ; 

I took the dead man by his hand. 
And called upon his name ! 

* O God ! it made me quake to see 

Such sense within the slain ! 
But when I touched the lifeless clay. 

The blood gushed out amain ! 
For every clot a burning spot 

Was scorching in my brain ! 

" My head was like an ardent coal— 

My heart as solid ice ; 
My wretched, wretched soul, I knew. 

Was at the devil's price. 
A dozen times I groaned — the dead 

Had never groaned but twice! 

'' And now ^vom forth the frowning sky. 
From the heaven's topmost height, 

I heard a voice — the awful voice 
Of the blood-avenging sprite : 

• Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead, 

^nd hide it from my sight! ' 



" And I took the dreary body up, 

And cast it in a stream — 
The sluggish w^ater, black as ink, 

The depth was so extreme : 
My gentle boy, remember ! this 

Is nothing but a dream ! 

" Down v>^ent the corse with a holloijv 
plunge. 

And vanished in the pool ; 
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands. 

And washed my forehead cool, 
And sat among the urchins young, 

That evening in the school. 

'*0 heaven! to think of their white souls. 

And mine so black and grim ! 
I could not share in childish prayer, 

i^or join in evening hymn; 
Like a devil of the pit I seemed, 

'Mid holy cherubim ! 

" And peace went with them, one and nii. 

And each calm pillow spread ; 
But guilt was my grim chamberlain, 

That lighted me to bed. 
And drew my midnight curtains round 

With fingers bloody red ! 

"All night I lay in agony. 

In anguish dark and deep ; 
My fevered eyes I dared not close, 

But stared aghast at sleep ; 
For sin had rendered unto her 

The keys of hell to keep ! 

''All night I lay in agony, 

From weary chime to chime ; 
With one besetting horrid hint. 

That racked me all the time — 
A mighty yearning, like the first 

Fierce impulse unto crime— 

" One stern tyrannic thought, that maa<3 

All other thoughts its slave! 
Stronger and stronger every pulse 

Did that temptation crave- 
Still urging me to go and see 

The dead man in his crave ! 



YOUNG AIRLY. 



4»9 



'* Heavily I rose up, as soon 

As light was in the sky, 
And sought the black accursed pool 

With a wild misgiving eye ; 
And I saw the dead in the river bed, 

For the faithless stream was dry. 

'^ Merrily rose the lark, and shook 

The dew-drop from its wing ; 
But I never marked its morning flight — 

I never heard it sing ; 
For I was stooping once again 

Under the horrid thing. 

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, 

I took him up and ran ; 
There was no time to dig a grave 

Before the day began — 
Tn a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, 

I hid the murdered man ! 

** And all that day I read in school. 
But my thought was other where ; 

As soon as the mid-day task was done. 
In secret I was there — 

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, 
And still the corse was bare ! 



" Then down I cast me on my face. 

And first began to weep, 
For I knew my secret then was one 

That earth refused to keep — 
Or land or sea, though he should be 

Ten thousand fathoms deep. 

" So wills the fierce avenging sprite. 

Till blood for blood atones ! 
Aye, though he 's buried in a cave. 

And trodden down with stones, 
And years have rotted oflf his flesh — 

The world shall see his bones! 

' 0*God I that horrid, horrid dream 

Besets me now awake ! 
Again — again, with dizzy brain, 

The human life I take ; 
And my red riglit hand grows raging Lot, 

Like Cranmer's at the stake. 



"And still no peace for the restless clay 

Will wave or mould allow ; 
The horrid thing pursues my soul — 

It stands before me now! " 
' The fearful boy looked up, and saw 

Huge drops upon his brow. 

That very night, while gentle sleep 

The urchin's eyelids kissed. 
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn 

Through the cold and heavy mist ; 
And Eugene Aram walked between, 

With gyves upon his wrist. 

Thomas Hoci). 



YOUXG AIELY. 

Ken ye aught of brave Lochiel ? 

Or ken ye aught of Airly ? 
They have belted on their bright broad swordg^ 

And off and awa' wi' Charlie. 
Now bring me fire, my merry, merry men, 

And bring it red and yarely — 
At mirk midnight there flashed a light 

O'er the topmost towers of Airly. 

What lowe is yon, quo' the gude Lochiel, 

Which gleams so red and rarely ? 
By the God of my kin, quo' young Ogilvie, 

It 's my ain bonnie hame of Airly ! 
Put up your sword, said the brave Lochiel, 

And calm your mood, quo' Charlie ; 
Ere morning glow we '11 raise a lowe 

Far brighter than bonnie Airly. 

Oh, yon fair tower 's my native tower ! 

Nor will it soothe my mourning, 
Were London palace, tower, and town. 

As fast and brightly burning. 
It 's no my hame — my father's hamo, 

That reddens my cheek sae sairlie — 
But my wife, and twa sweet babes I left 

To smoor in the smoke of Airly. 

AKONiacoub 



190 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



A SIS-QW-STORM. 



feCEXE IN A TERMOXI WIXTEE. 



T IS a fearful night in the winter time, 

As cold as it ever can be ; 
The roar of the blast is heard like the chime 

Of the waves on an angry sea. 
The moon is full ; but her silver light 
The storm dashes out with its wings to-night ; 
And over the sky from south to north 
Not a star is seen, as the wind comes forth 

In the strength of a mighty glee. 



All day had the snow come down — all day 

As it never came down before ; 
And over the hills, at sun-set, lay 

Some two or three feet, or more ; 
The fence was lost, and tlie wall of stone ; 
The windows blocked and the well-curbs 

gone ; 
The haystack had grown to a mountain lift, 
And the wood-pile looked like a monster 
drift. 

As it lay by the farmer's door. 

The night sets m on a world of snow, 
While the air grows sharp and chill, 

And the warning roar of a fearful blow 
Is heard on the distant hill ; 

And the norther, see ! on the mountain peak 

In his breath how the old trees writhe and 
shriek ! 

He {.houts on the plain, ho-ho ! ho-ho ! 

He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow. 
And growls with a sava^ie will. 



Such a night as this to be found abroad. 
In the drifts and the freezing air. 

Sits a shivering dog, in the field, by the road, 
With the snow in his shaggy hair. 

Re shuts his eyes to the wind and growls ; 

He lifts his head, and moans and howls ; 

Then crouching low, from the cutting sleet. 

His nose is pressed on his quivering feet — 
Pray whc^ does the dog do there ? 



A farmer came from the village plain — 

But he lost the travelled way; 
And for hours he trod with might and maiu 

A path for his horse and sleigh ; 
But colder still the cold winds blew, 
And deeper still the deep drifts grew, 
And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, 
At last in her struggles floundered down, 

Where a log in a hollow lay. 

In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, 

She plunged in the drifting snow, 
While her master urged, tiU his breath grew 
short. 
With a word and a gentle blow ; 
But the snow was deep, and the tugs were 

tight ; 
His hands were numb and had lost their 

might ; 
So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh. 
And strove to shelter himself till day, 
With his coat and the buflPalo. 



He has given the last faint jerk of the rein, 

To rouse up his dying steed ; 
And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain 

For help in his master's need. 
For a while he strives with a wistful cry 
To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, 
And wags his tail if the rude winds flap 
The skirt of the bufialo over his lap. 

And whines when he takes no heed 

V. 

The wind goes down and the storm is o'er— 

'T is the hour of midnight, past ; 
The old trees writhe and bend no more 

In the whirl of the rushing blast. 
The silent moon with her peaceful light 
Looks down on the hills with snow all white 
And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, 
The blasted pine and the ghostly stump. 
Afar on the plain are cast- 



But cold and dead by the hidden log 
Are they who came from the town— 

The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, 
And his beautiful Mor^j^an brown- 



•I 



SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BRJEATH. 



49 i 



In the wide suow-desert, far and grand, 
With his cap on his head and the reins m his 

hand — 
The dog with his nose on his master's feet. 
And the mare half seen through the crusted 
sleet, 
Where she lay when she floundered down. 
Charles Gamagb Eastman. 



THE HUNTER'S YlSIOlSr. 

Upon a rock that, high and sheer. 
Rose from the mountain's hreast, 

A weary hunter of the deer 
Had sat him down to rest, 

And hared to the soft summer air 

His hot red hrow and sweaty hair. 

All dim in haze the mountains lay, 

With dimmer vales between ; 
And rivers glimmered on their way. 

By forests faintly seen ; 
While ever rose a murmuring sound. 
From brooks below and bees around. 

He listened, till he seemed to hear 

A strain, so soft and low 
That whether in the mind or ear 

The listener scarce might know ; 
With such a tone, so sweet, so mild. 
The watching mother lulls her child. 

•* Thou weary huntsman," thus it said, 
''Thou faint with toil and heat, 

The pleasant land of rest is spread 
Before thy very feet. 

And those whom thou wouldst gladly see 

Are waitinc: there to welcome thee." 



He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky 

Amid the noontide haze, 
A shadowy region met his eye. 

And grew beneath his gaze, 
As if the vapors of the air 
Had ga hered into shapes so fair. 



Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers 
Showed bright on rocky bank, 

And fountains welled beneath the bowers, 
Where deer and pheasant drank. 

He saw the glittering streams ; he heard 

The rustling bough and twittering bird. 

And friends, the dead, in boyhood dear, 
There lived and walked again ; 

And there was one who many a year 
Within her grave had lain, 

A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride — 

His heart was breaking when she died. 

Bounding, as was her wont, she came 
Right towards his resting place, 

And stretched her hand and called his name, 
With that sweet smiling face. 

Forward with fixed and eager eyes, 

The hunter leaned in act to rise : 

Forward he leaned — and headlong down 
Plunged from that craggy wall ; 

He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown 
An instant, in his fall — 

A frightful instant, and no more , 

The dream and life at once were o'er. 

William Cullen BEYAvr. 



SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH, 

Softly woo away her breath. 

Gentle death ! 
Let her leave thee with no strife. 

Tender, mournful, murmuring lifel 
She hath seen her happy day — 

She hatli had her bud and blossom , 
Now she pales and shrinks away, 

Earth, into thy gentle bosom ! 

She hath done her bidding here, 

Angels dear ! 
Bear her perfect soul above. 

Seraph of the skies — sweet love ! 
Good she was, and fair in youth ; 

And her mind was seen to soar, 
And her heart was wed to truth : 

Take her, then, for evermore — 

For ever — evermore ! 

Barrt Cornwali. 



4y2 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY aND SORROW. 



THE MAY QUEEIS". 



You must wake and call me early, call me 
early, mother dear ; 

To-morrow '11 be the happiest tmie of all the 
glad new-year — 

Of all the glad new-year, mother, the mad- 
dest, merriest day ; 

For I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I 'm 
to be queen o' the May. 



* They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not 
what they say, 
For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother 
I 'm to be queen o' the May. 

VI. 

They say he's dying all for love — but thot 

can never be ; 
They say his heart is breaking, mother — what 

is that to me ? 
There's many a bolder lad '11 woo me any 

summer day ; 
And I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



There 's many a black, black eye, they say, 

but none so bright as mine ; 
There 's Margaret and Mary, there 's Kate 

and Caroline; 
But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, 

they say : 
So I 'm to be qaeen o' the May, mother, I 'm 

to be queen o' the May. 

III. 

i sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall 
never wake. 

If you do not call me loud when the day be- 
gins to break ; 

But I must gather knots of flowers and buds, 
and garlands gay ; 

For I'm to be queen o' the May, ?nother, 
I 'm to be queen o' the May. 

IV. 

As I came up the valley, whom think ye 

shauld I see, 
But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the 

hazel-tree ? 
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave 

him yesterday, — 
But I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



Se thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was 
all in white ; 



Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to 

the green, 
And you '11 be there, too, mother, to see me 

made the queen ; 
For the shepherd lads on every side '11 come 

from far away ; 
And I 'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 

VIII. 

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven 

its wavy bowers, 
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint 

sweet cuckoo-flowers ; 
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire 

in swamps and hollows gray ; 
And I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 

IX. 

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon 

the meadow-grass, 
And the happy stars above them seem to 

brighten as they pass ; 
There will not be a drop of rain the whole oi 

• the livelong day ; 
And Pm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm 

to be queen o' the May. 



All the valley, mother, '11 be fresh and green 
and still. 



And I ran by hira without speaking, like a And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over 



flash of light. 



all the hill. 



THE MAY QUEEN. 



491^ 



And the rivulet in the flowery dale '11 mer- 
rily glance and play, 

For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 
I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



XI. 

So you must wake and call me early, call me 

early, mother dear, ^ 

To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the 

glad new-year : 
To-morrow '11 be of all the year the maddest, 

merriest day, 
For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, 

I 'm to be queen o' the May. 



NEW YEAPv S EYE. 



IF you 're waking, call me early, call me early, 

mother dear. 
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad 

new-year. 
It is the last new-year that I shall ever see — 
Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and 

think no more of me. 



II. 

To-night I saw the sun set — ^he set and left 

behind 
Th^ <^ood old year, the dear old time, and all 

my peace of mind ; 
And the new-year 's coming up, mother ; but 

I shall never see 
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon 

the tree. 

III. 

Last May we made a crown of flowers ; we 

had a merry day — 
Beneath the hawthorn on the green they 

made me queen of May ; 
And we danced about the May-pole and in 

the hazel copse, 
rill Charles's Wain came out above the tall 

white chimney-tops. 



IV. 



There 's not a flower on all the hills — tie frost 

is on the pane ; 
I^only wish to live tiU the snowdrops come 

again. 
I wish the snow would melt and the sun come 

out on high — 
I long to see a flower so before the day I die. 



The building rook '11 caw from the windy tall 

elm-tree, 
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow 

lea. 
And the swallow '11 come back again with 

summer o'er the wave. 
But I sball lie alone, mother, within the 

mouldering grave. 

YI. 

Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that 
grave of mine. 

In the early, early morning the summer sun '11 
shine, 

Before the red cock crows from the farm up- 
on the hill — 

When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all 
the w^orld is still. 

YII. 

When the flowers come again, mother, be- 
neath the waning light 

You '11 never see me more in the long gray 
fields at night ; 

When from the dry dark wold the summei 
airs blow cool 

On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the 
bulrush in the pool. 

YIII. 

Y^ou'll bury me, my mother, just beneatl. the 

hawthorn shade. 
And you '11 come sometimes and see me where 

I am lowly laid. 
I shall not forget you, mother ; I shall liea? 

you when you pass, 
With your feet above my head in the long 

and pleasant grass. 



i94 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



I haTo been wild and wayward, but you'll 

forgive me now ; 
You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my 

clieek and brow ; 
Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor .et your 

grief be wild ; 
Y^ou should not fret for me, mother — you 

have another child. 



If I can, I '11 come again, mother, from out 

my resting-place ; 
Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall 

look upon your face ; 
Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken 

what you say, 
And be often, often with you when you think 

I 'm far away. 

XI. 

Good-night ! good-night 1 when I have said 

good-night for evermore, 
And 3'ou see me carried out from the threshold 

of the door, 
Do n't let Effie come to see me till my grave 

be growing green — 
She '11 be a better child to you than ever I 

have been. 

XII. 

She '11 find my garden-tools upon the granary 

floor. 
Let her take 'em — they are hers ; I shall never 

garden more. 
But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the 

rose-bush that I set 
About the parlor-window, and the box of 

mignonette. 

XIII. 

Grood-night, sweet mother ! Call me before 

the day is born. 
4ll night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at 

morn ; 
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad 

new-year — 
5o, if you 're waking, call me, call me early, 

mother dear. 



COXCLUSIOX. 

I. 

I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alivt 

I am ; 
And in the fields all round I hear the bleating 

of the lamb. 
How sadly, I remember, rose the morning cf 

the year ! 
To die before the snowdrop came, and now 

the violet 's here. 



Oh sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath 

the skies ; 
And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to rat 

that cannot rise ; 
And SAveet is all the land about, and all the 

flowers that blow ; 
And sweeter far is death than life, to me that 

long to go. 



It seemed so hard at flrst, mother, to leave 

the blessed sun. 
And now it seems as hard to stay ; and yet, 

His will be done ! 
But still I think it can't be long before I find 

release ; 
And that good man, the clergyman, has told 

me words of peace. 

lY. 

Oh blessings on his kindly voice, and on hid 
silver hair ! 

And blessings on his whole life long, until he 
meet me there ! 

Oh blessings on his kindly heart and on his 
silver head ! 

A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt be- 
side my bed. 

Y. 

He showed me all the mercy, for he taught 

me all the sin ; 
ll^ow, though my lamp was lighted late 

there 's One will let me in. 
]!^or would I now be well, mother, again, if 

that could be ; 
For my desire is but to pass to Him that died 

for me. 



THE MAY QUEEN. 



495 



YI. 

I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the 

death-watch beat — 
There came a sweeter token when the night 

and morning meet ; 
But sit beside my bed, mother, and put yoni 

hand in mine, 
And Effie on the other side, and I will tell 

the siojn. 



All in the wild March-morning I heard the 
angels call — 

It was when the moon was setting, and the 
dark was over all ; 

The trees began to whisper, and the w^ind be- 
gan to roil, 

And in the wild March-morning I heard them 
call my soul. 

VIII. 

For lying broad awake, I thought of you and 

Effie dear ; 
I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer 

here; 
With all my strengtli I prayed for both — and 

so I felt resigned, 
And up the valley came a swell of music on 

the wind. 



I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in 

my bed ; 
And then did something speak to me — I know 

not what was said ; 
For great delight and shuddering took hold 

of all my mind, 
And up the valley came again the music on 

the wind. 

X. 

But you were sleeping ; and I said, " It 's not 

for them — it 's mine ; " 
And if it comes three times, I thought, I take 

it for a sign. 
And once again it came, and close beside the 

window-bars — 
Then seemed to go riglit up to heaven and 

die among the stars. 



So now I think my time is near ; I trust it is. 

I know 
The blessed music went that way my sou, 

will have to go. 
And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to 

day; 
But Effie, you must comfort her when I am 

past away. 

XII. 

And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him 

not to fret ; 
There 's many worthier than I would make 

him happy yet. 
If I had lived — I cannot tell — I might have 

been his wife ; 
But all these things have ceased to be, ^vitb 

my desire of life. 

XIII. 

Oil look ! the sun begins to rise ! the heavens 

are in a glow ; 
He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of 

them I know\ 
And there I move no longer now, and there 

his light may shine — 
Wild flowers in the valley for other hands 

than mine. 



Oh sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere 
this day is done 

The voice that now is speaking may be be- 
yond the sun — 

For ever and for ever with tliose just souls 
and true — 

And what is life, that we should moan ? wh> 
make we such ado ? 

XV. 

For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home, 
And there to wait a little while till you and 

Effie come — 
To lie within the light of (nxl, as I lie upon 

your breast — 
And the wicked cease from troubling, and 

the weary are at rest. 

Alfked Tenntson. 



*9n 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW 



THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE 
DEATH OF HER FAWN. 

TiiE wanton troopers, riding by, 

Have shot my fawn, and it will die. 

Ungentle men ! they cannot thrive 

Who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst, alive, 

Them any harm; alas! nor could 

Thy death yet do them any good. 

I'm sure I never wished them ill — 

Nor do I for all this, nor will ; 

But, if my simple prayers may yet 

Prevail with heaven to forget 

Thy murder, I will join my tears, 

Rather'than fail. But, oh my fears I 

It cannot die so. Heaven's king 

Keeps register of every thing ; 

And nothing may we use in vain ; 

Even beasts must be with justice slain — 

Else men are made their deodands. 

Though they should wash their guilty hands 

In this warm life-blood, which doth part 

From thine and wound me to the heart, 

l^et could they not be clean — their stain 

Is dyed in such a purple grain ; 

There is not such another in 

The world to offer for their sin. 

Inconstant Sylvio ! when yet 
I had not found him counterfeit. 
One morning (I remember well). 
Tied in this silver chain and bell. 
Gave it to me ; nay, and I know 
What he said then — I 'm sure I do : 
Said he, " Look how your huntsman here 
Hath taught a fawn to hunt his dear ! " 
But Sylvio soon had me beguiled — 
This waxed tame, while he grew wild ; 
And, quite regardless of my smart, 
Left me his fawn, but took his heart. 

Thenceforth, I set myself to play 
My solitary time away. 
With this ; and, very well content. 
Could so mine idle life have spent. 
For it was full of sport, and light 
Of foot and heart, and did invite 
Me to its game. It seemed to bless 
Itself in me ; how could I less 
Than love it ? Oh I cannot be 
Unkind t' a beast that loveth me. 



Had it lived long, I do not know 
Whether it, too, might have done so 
As Sylvio did — his gifts might be 
Perhaps as false, or more, than he. 
For I am sure, for aught that I 
Could in so short a time espy. 
Thy love was far more better than 
The love of false and cruel man. 

With sweetest milk, and sugar, first 
I it at mine own fingers nursed ; 
And as it grew, so every day 
It waxed more white and sweet than they. 
It had so sweet a breath ! and oft 
I blushed to see its foot more soft 
And white — shall I say than my hand ? 
Nay, any lady's of the land. 

It is a wondrous thing how fleet 
'T was on those little silver feet ! 
With what a pretty, skipping grace 
It oft would challenge me the race ! 
And when 't had left me far away, 
'T would stay, and run again, and stay , 
For it Avas nimbler, much, than hinds, 
x\nd trod as if on the four winds. 

I have a garden of my own — 
But so with roses overgrown. 
And lilies, that you would it guess 
To be a little wilderness ; 
And aU the spring-time of the year 
It only loved to be there. 
Among the beds of lilies I 
Have sought it oft, where it should lie 
Y^'et could not, till itself would rise, 
Find it, although before mine eyes ; 
For in the flaxen lilies' shade 
It like a bank of lilies laid. 
Upon the roses it would feed. 
Until its lips ev'n seemed to bleed ; 
And then to me 'twould boldly trip, 
And print those roses on my lip. 
But all its chief delight was still 
On roses thus itself to fill ; 
And its pure virgin limbs to fold 
In whitest sheets of lilies cold. 
Had it lived long, it would have beer 
Lilies without, roses within. 

Oh help ! oh help ! I see it faint. 
And die as calndy as a saint ! 
See how it weeps ! the tears do come 
Sad, slowly, dropping like a gum. 
So weeps the wounded balsam : so 



LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. 



49: 



The holy frankincense doth flow ; 

The brotherless Ileliades 

Melt in such amber tears as these. 

I in a golden vial will 
Keep these two crystal tears ; and fill 
It, till it do o'erflow, with mine ; 
Then place it in Diana's shrine. 

ITow my sweet fawn is vanished to 
Whither the swans and turtles go ; 
In fair Elysium to endure, 
With milk-white lambs, and ermins pure. 
Oh do not run too fast ! for I 
Will but bespeak thy grave, and die. 

First my unhappy statue shall 
Be cut in marble ; and withal, 
Let it be weeping too ! But there 
Th' engraver sure his art may spare, 
For I so truly thee bemoan 
That I shall weep though I be stone ; 
Until my tears, still drooping, wear 
My breast, themselves engraving there. 
There at my feet shalt thou be laid. 
Of purest alabaster made ; 
For I would have thine image be 
^']iite as I can, though not as thee. 

Andrew Maevell. 



LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRAIsTT. 

I 'm sittm' on the stile, Mary, 

Where we sat side by side 
On a bright May mornin' long ago. 

When first you were my bride ; 
The corn was springin' fresh and green. 

And the lark sang loud and high ; 
And the red was on your lip, Mary, 

And the love-light in your eye. 

The place is little changed, Mary ; 

The day is bright as then ; 
The lark's loud song is in my ear. 

And the corn is green again ; 
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand. 

And your breath, warm on my cheek ; 
And 1 still keep list'nin' for the words 

Yoi never more will speak. 

Tis but a step down yonder lane. 
And the little church stands near — 
67 



The church where we were wed, Mary ; 

I see the spire from here. 
But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, 

And my step might break your rest — 
SFor I 've laid you, darling, down to sleep, 

With your baby on your breast. 

I 'm very lonely now, Mary — 

For the poor make no new friends ; 
But, oh ! they love the better still 

The few our Father sends ! 
And you were all I had, Mary — 

My blessin' and my pride : 
There 's nothing left to care for now. 

Since my poor Mary died. 

Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, 

That still kept hoping on, 
When the trust in God had left my soul. 

And my arm's young strength was gone ; 
There was comfort ever on your lip, 

And the kind look on your brow — 
I bless you, Mary, for that same. 

Though you cannot hear me now. 

I thank you for the patient smile 

When your heart was fit to break — 
When the hunger pain was gnawin' there, 

And you hid it for my sake ; 
I bless you for the pleasant word, 

When your heart was sad and sore — 
Oh ! I 'm thankful you are gone, Mary, 

Where grief can't reach you more ! 

I 'm biddin' you a long farewell. 

My Mary — kind and true ! 
But I '11 not forget you, darling, 

In the land I 'm goin' to ; 
They say there 's bread and work for all, 

And the sun shines always there — 
But I '11 not forget old Ireland, 

Were it fifty times as fair ! 

And often in those grand old woods 

I '11 sit, and shut my eyes, 
And my heart will travel back again 

To the place where Mary lies ; 
And I '11 think I see the little stile 

Where we sat side by side, 
And the springin' corn, and the bright May 
morn. 

When first you were my bride. 



i9S 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 

*' Drowned I Drowned 1 "—Hamlet. 

OxE more unfortunate, 
Weary of breath, 
Rashly importunate, 
Gone to her death ! 

Take her up tenderly. 
Lift her with care ! 
Fashioned so slenderly- 
Young, and so fair ! 

Look at her garments 
Clinging like cerements. 
Whilst the wave constantlj 
Drips from her clothing ; 
Take her up instantly. 
Loving, not loathing ! 

Touch her not scornfully ! 
Think of her mournfully, 
Gently and humanly — 
IS'ot of the stains of her ; 
All that remains of her 
."Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny, 
Rash and undutiiui ; 
Past all dishonor. 
Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still, for all slips of hers — 
One of Eve's family — 
Wipe those poor lips of hers. 
Oozing so clammily. 

Loop up her tresses 
Escaped from the comb — 
Her fair auburn tresses — 
Whilst wonderment guesses 
Where was her home ? 

Who was her father? 
Who Avas her mother ? 
Had she a sister ? 
Had she a brother ? 
Or was there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 
Yet, than all other? 



Alas! for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 
Under the sun ! 
Oh ! it was pitiful 1 
Near a whole city full, 
Home she had none. 

Sisterly, brotherly, 
Fatherly, motherly 
Feelings had changed — 
Love, by harsh evidence. 
Thrown from its eminence, 
Even God's providence 
Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 

So far in the river, 

With many a light 

From window and casement, 

From garret to basement, 

She stood, with amazement, 

Houseless by night. 

The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver : 
But not the dark arch. 
Or the black flowing river ; 
Mad from life's history. 
Glad to death's mystery. 
Swift to be hurled — 
Any where, any where 
Out of the world ! 

In she plunged boldly — 
IS'o matter how coldly 
The rough river ran — 
Over the brink of it ! 
Picture it — think of it ! 
Dissolute man ! 
Lave in it, drink of it. 
Then, if you can ! 

Take her up tenderly — 
Lift her with care ! 
Fashioned so slenderly— 
IToung, and so fair ! 

Ere her limbs, frigidly. 
Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, kindly. 
Smooth and compose them; 
And her eyes, close them. 
Staring so blindly I 



THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 



49V 



Dreadfully staring 
Through muddy impurity, 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 
Fixed on futurity. 

Perishing gloomily, 
Spurred by contumely, 
Cold inhumanity, 
Burning insanity, 
Into her rest ! 
Cross her hands humbly, 
As if praying dumbly, 
Over her breast ! 

Owning her weakness, 
Her evil behavior, 
And leaving, with meekness, 
Her sins to her Saviour ! 

Thomas Hood. 



THE MOTHEE'S LAST SOI^G. 

Sleep!— The ghostly winds are blowing! 
No moon abroad — no star is glowing ; 
The river is deep, and the tide is flowing 
To the land where you and I are going ! 

We are going afar, 

Beyond moon or star, 
To the land where the sinless angels are ! 

I lost my heart to your heartless sire, 
(T was melted away by his looks of fire) — 
Forgot my God, and my father's ire, 
All for the sake of a man's desire ; 
But now we '11 go 
Where the waters flow. 
And make us a bed where none shall 
know. 

The world is cruel — the world is untrue ; 
Our foes are many, our friends are few ; 
N'o work, no bread, however we sue ! 
What is there left for me to do, 
But fly— fly 
From the cruel sky, 
And hide in the deepest deeps — and die ! 
Barry Cornwall. 



THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 

With fingers weary and worn. 

With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 

Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch I stitch! stitch! 
In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; 

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 
She sang the " Song of the Shirt ! " 

" Work ! work ! work ! 

While the cock is crowing aloof! 
And work — work — work. 

Till the stars shine through the roof I 
It 's oh ! to be a slave 

Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save, 

If this is Christian work ! 

" Work — work — work 

Till the brain begins to swim ! 
Work — w ork — work 

Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! 
Seam, and gusset, and band. 

Band, and gusset, and seam — 
Till over the buttons I fall asleep. 

And sew them on in a dream ! 

" men, with sisters dear ! 

men, with mothers and wives I 
It is not linen you 're wearing out. 

But human creatures' lives ! 
Stitch — stitch — stitch. 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt — 
Sewing at once, with a double thread, 

A shroud as well as a shirt! 

" But why do I talk of death— 

That phantom of grisly bone ? 
I hardly fear his terrible shape. 

It seems so like my own — 

It seems so like my own 

Because of the fasts I keep ; 
God ! that bread should be so dear, 

And flesh and blood so cheap ! 

" Work — work — work ! 

My labor never flags ; 
And what are its wages ? A bed of straw 

A crust of bread — and rags, 



)00 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AN^ SORROW. 



That shattered roof — and this naked floor — 

A table — a broken chair — 
And a wall so blank mj shadow I thank 

For sometimes falling there ! 

" Work — work — work ! 

From weary chime to chime ! 
Work — work — work — 

As prisoners work for crime ! 
Band, and gusset, and seam. 

Seam, and gusset, and band — 
Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed, 

As well as the weary hand. 

" Work — work — work 

In the dull December light ! 
And work — work — work. 

When the weather is warm and bright ! — 
While underneath the eaves 

The brooding swallows cling. 
As if to show me their sunny backs. 

And twit me with the Spring. 

^' Oh ! but to breathe the breath 

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet — 
With the sky above my head, 

And the grass beneath my feet ' 
For only one short hour 

To feel as I used to feel. 
Before I knew the woes of want 

And the walk that costs a meal ! 

' Oh ! but for one short hour — 

A respite however brief! 
No blessed leisure for love or hope, 

But only time for grief! 
A little weeping would ease my heart ; 

But in their briny bed 
My tears must stop, for every drop 

Hinders needle and thread ! " 

With fingers weary and worn, 

With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags. 

Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch! stitch! stitch! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; 
ind still, with a voice of dolorous pitch — 
Would that its tone could reach the rich ! — 

She sang this "Song of the Shirt! '" 

Thomas Hood. 



SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. 

Into the silent land ! 
Ah! who shall lead us thither? 
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather 
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand 
Who leads us with a gentle hand 
Thither, oh, thither! 

Into the silent land? 

Into the silent land ! 
To you, ye boundless regions 
Of all perfection ! Tender morning- visions 
Of beauteous souls ! The future's pledge and 

band I 
Who in life's battle firm doth stand 
ShaU bear hope's tender blossoms 

Into the silent land ! 

land! land! 
For all the broken-hearted 
The mildest herald by our fate allotted 
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth staixl 
To lead us with a gentle hand 
Into the land of the great departed — 

Into the silent land ! 

JoHANN Gaudenz VON Salis. (German.) 
TraD^lation of H. "W. Longfellow, 



THE PAUPEE'S DEATHBED 

Teead softly ! bow the head- 
In reverent silence bow ! 

No passing bell doth toll ; 

Yet an immortal soul 
Is passing now. 

Stranger, however great. 

With lowly reverence bow ! 
There 's one in that poor shed 
One by that paltry bed — 
Greater than thou. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 

Lo ! Death doth keep his state I 
Enter ! — ^no crowds attend- 
Enter ! — ^no guards defend 
This palace gate. 



THE LAST JOURNEY. 



501 



That pavement damp and cold 
!N"o smiling courtiers tread ; 

One silent woman stands, 

Lifting with meagre hands 
A dying head. 

N'o mingling voices sound — 

An infant wail alone ; 
A sob suppressed — again 
That short deep gasp — and then 

The parting groan ! 

Oh ! change — oh ! wondrous change ! 

Burst are the prison bars ! 
This moment there, so low, 
So agonized — and now 

Beyond the stars ! 

Oh ! change — stupendous change ! 

There lies the soulless clod ! 
The sun eternal breaks ; 
The new immortal wakes — 

Wakes with his God. 

Caeoline Bowles Southet. 



THE LAST JOUENEY. 

Slowly, with measured tread, 
Onward we bear the dead 

To his lone home ; 
Short grows the homeward road- 
On with your mortal load ! — 

O grave ! we come. 

Yet, yet — ah ! hasten not 
Past each remembered spot 

Where he hath been — 
Where late he walked in glee, 
These from henceforth to be 

ijTever more seen ! 

Rest ye — set down the bier ! 
One he loved dwelleth here ; 

Let the dead lie 
A moment that door beside, 
Wont to fl^ open wide 

Ere he drew nigh. 



Hearken ! — ^he speaketh yet ! — 
''0 friend 1 wilt thou forget 

(Friend — more than brother!) 
How hand in hand we 've gone, 
Heart with heart linked in one- 
All to each other ? 



" O friend ! I go from thee — 
Where the worm feasteth free. 

Darkly to dwell ; 
Giv'st thou no parting kiss ? 
Friend I is it come to this ? 

friend, farewell ! " 

Uplift your load again ! 

Take up the mourning strain — 

Pour the deep wail I 
Lo ! the expected one 
To his place passeth on — 

Grave ! bid him hail ! 

Yet, yet — ah ! slowly move 
Bear not the form we love 

Fast from our sight — 
Let the air breathe on him, 
And the sun beam on him 

Last looks of light. 

Here dwells his mortal foe : 
Lay the departed low, 

Even at his gate ! 
Will the dead speak again — 
Utt'ring proud boasts, and vain 

Last words of hate ? 

Lo ! the cold lips unclose — 

List ! list ! what sounds arc thoae^ 

Plaintive and low ? 
" thou, mine enemy ! 
Come forth and look on me, 

Ere hence I go. 

*' Curse not thy foemcn now — 
Mark I on his pallid brow 

Whose seal is set ! 
Pardoning I pass thy way ; 
Then wage not war with clay - 

Pardon — forget ! " 



)02 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Kow all his labor 's done ! 
Now, now the goal is won ! 

O grave, we come ! 
Seal up the precious dust — 
Land of the good and just. 

Take the soul home ! 

Caroline Bowles Southey. 



THE PAUPER'S DRIVE. 

Theee 's a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly 

round trot — 
To the church-yard a pauper is going, I wot ; 
The road it is rough, and the hearse has no 

springs ; 
And hark to the dirge which the mad driver 
sings : 
Rattle Ms dones over the stones ! 
He ^s only a pauper^ whom no'hody owns ! 

Oh, where are the mourners ? Alas ! there are 

none — 
He has left not a gap in the world, now he 's 

gone — 
Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or 

man; 
To the grave with his carcass as fast as you 

can: 
Battle his hones over the stones I 
He *s only a pauper^ lohom nobody owns ! 

What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, 

and din ! 
The whip how it cracks! and the wheels, how 

they spin I 
How the dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges 

is hurled ! — 
The pauper at length makes a noise in the 

world I 
Battle his bones over the stones ! 
He 's only a pauper^ whom nobody owns ! 

t*oor pauper defunct 1 he has made some ap- 
proach 

To gentility, now that he's st^Btched in a 
coach ! 



He 's taking a drive m his carriage at last \ 
But it will not be long, if he goes on so fast 
Battle his bones over the stones 1 
He ^s only a pauper^ whom nobody owns I 

You bumpkins! who stare at your brothel 

conveyed — 
Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid I 
And be joyful to think, when by death you 're 

laid low. 
You 've a chance to the grave like a gemman 
to go ! 
Battle his bones over the stones I 
He 's only a pauper^ whom nobody oicns I 

But a truce to this strain ; for my soul it is 

sad, 
To think that a heart in humanity clad 
Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate 

end. 
And depart from the light w^ithout leaving a 

friend ! 

Bear soft Ms bones over the stones ! 

Though a pauper^ he'^s one whom his Mahe? 

yet owns ! 

Thomas Noel. 



THE DEATH-BED. 

We watched her breathing thro' the night. 

Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 

Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seemed to speak. 

So slowly moved about. 
As we had lent her half our powers 

To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 

Our fears our hopes belied — 
We thought her dying when she slept. 

And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came, dim and sad. 

And chill with early showers, 
Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 

Another morn than ours. 

Thomab Iloon 



HESTER. 



50;-^ 



A DEATH-BED. 

Her suffering ended with the day ; 

Yet lived she at its close, 
And breathed the long, long night away, 

In statue-like repose. 

But when the sun, in all his state, 

Illumed the eastern skies. 
She passed through glory's morning-gate. 

And walked in Paradise 1 

Jame3 Aldrich. 



PEACE ! WHAT DO TEARS AVAIL ? 

Peace ! what can tears avail ? 
She lies all dumb and pale, 

And from her eye 
The spirit of lovely life is fading — 

And she must die ! 
Why looks the lover wroth — the friend up- 
braiding? 

Reply, reply ! 

Hath she not dwelt too long 
'Midst pain, and grief, and wrong? 

Then why not die ? 
Why suffer again her doom of sorrow. 

And hopeless lie ? 
Why nurse the trembling dream until to-mor- 
row ? 

Reply, reply ! 

Death ! Take her to thine arms. 
In ail her stainless charms ! 

And v/ith her ^.j 
To heavenly haunts, where, clad in bright- 
ness. 
The angels lie 1 
Wilt bear her there, death! in all her 
whiteness ? 

Reply, reply ! 

Barbt Cornwall. 



HESTER. 

When maidens such as Hester die, 
Their place ye may not well supply. 
Though ye among a thousand try. 
With vain endeavor. 



A month or more hath she been dead. 
Yet cannot I by force be led 
To think upon the v/ormy bed 
And her, tosrether. 



A springy motion in her gait, 
A rising step, did indicate 
Of pride and joy no common rate, 
That flushed her spirit ; 



I know not by what name beside 
I shall it call : — if 't was not pride, 
It was a joy to that allied, 
She did inherit. 



Her parents held the Quaker rule, 
Which doth the human feeling cool ; 
But she was trained in nature^s school — 
^N'ature had blessed her. 

A waking eye, a prying mind, 
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; 
A haw^k's keen sight ye cannot blind — 
Ye could not Hester. 



My sprightly neighbor, gone before 
To that unknown and silent shore ! 
Shall we not meet, as heretofore. 
Some summer mornincr, 



When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 
Hath struck a bliss upon the day — 
A bliss that would not go away — 
A sweet fore-warning? 

CnARLBB LaDU! 



504 



POEMS OF TRAGEDV AND SORROW. 



LYCIDAS. 

Yet once more, ye laurels, and once more 

Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 

[ come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, 

And with forced fingers rude 

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing 

year. 
Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, 
Compels me to disturb your season due ; 
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime. 
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. 
Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew 
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
He must not float upon his watery bier 
Unwept,- and vf elter to the parching wind. 
Without the meed of some melodious tear. 

Begin then, sisters of the sacred well, 
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth 

spring, 
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse ; 
So may some gentle muse 
With lucky words favor my destined urn. 
And as he passes turn, 
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ; 
For we were nursed upon the self-same hill. 
Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and 

rill. 
Together both, ere the high lawns appear- 
ed 
Under the opening eyelids of the morn. 
We drove a-field, and both together heard 
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, 
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of 

night. 
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright 
Toward heaven's descent had sloped his 

westering wheel. 
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mate. 
Tempered to the oaten flute ; 
Rough satyrs danced, and fauns witn cloven 

heel 
From the glad song would not be absent long. 
And old DamoBtas Joved to hear our song. 
But oh, the heavy change, now thou art 

gone — 
N"ow thou art gone, and never must return ! 
Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert 

caves, 



With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'er- 

grown, 
And all their echoes, mourn ; 
The frillows, and the hazel copses green. 
Shall now no more be seen. 
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 
As killing as the canker to the rose. 
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that 

graze, 
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe 

wear, 
When first the white-thorn blows ; 
Such, L3^cidas, thy loss to shepherd's eai. 
Where were ye, nymphs, when the re- 
morseless deep 
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? 
For neither were ye playing on the steep, 
Where your old bards, the famous druids, 

lie, 
ISTor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
Is^or yet wdiere Deva spreads her wizard 

stream — 
Ay me ! I fondly dream, 
Had ye been there : for what could that Jiave 

done ? 
What could the muse herself that Orpheu 

bore. 
The muse herself for her enchanting son, 
Whom universal nature did lament. 
When, by the rout that made the hideous 

roar. 
His gory visage down the stream was sent, 
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? 

xAlas ! what boots it with incessant care 
To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade. 
And strictly meditate the thankless muse ? 
Were it not better done, as others use, 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 
Or with the tangles of [N'esera's hair ? 
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth 

raise 
(That last infirmity of noble minds) 
To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find. 
And think to burst out into sudden blaze. 
Comes the blind fury with the abhorrea 

shears. 
And slits the thin-spun life. But not the 

praise, 
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling 

ears : 



LYCIDAS. 



505 



t'ame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
N'or in the glistering foil 
Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies ; 
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; 
As he pronounces lastly on each deed. 
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed. 
fountain Arethuse, and thou honored 

flood, 
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal 

reeds. 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood ; 
But now my oat proceeds, 
And listens to the herald of the sea 
That came in Ij^eptune's plea ; 
He asked the waves, and asked the felon 

winds. 
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle 

swain ? 
And questioned every gust of rugged winds 
That blows from off each beaked promontory ; 
They knew not of his story ; 
And sage Hippotades their answer brings. 
That not a blast was from his dungeon 

strayed ; 
The air was calm, and on the level brine 
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. 
It was that fatal and perfidious bark. 
Built in th' eclipse, and rigged with curses 

dark, 
Than sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 
i' IN'ext Camus, reverend sire, went footing 

slow. 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, 
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge, 
Like to that sanguine flower, inscribed with 

woe. 
Ah ! who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest 

pledge ? 
LasTU came, and last did go. 
The pilot of tlie Galilean Lake ; 
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain); 
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : 
How well could I have spared for thee, young 

swain, 
Enow of sucli as for their bellies' sake 
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ? 
Of other care they little reckoning make. 
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, 
And shove away the worthy bidden guest ; 



Blind moiiths ! that scarce themselves know 
how to hold 

A sheep-aook, or have learned aught else the 
leas\; ■ 

That to the fjxlthful herdsman's art belongs ! 

What recks it them ? what need they ? they 
are sped ; 

And when they list, their lean and flashy 
songs 

Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched 
straw ; 

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 

But, swollen with wind and the rank mist 
they draw. 

Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; 

Besides what the grim wolf with privy pa^ 

Daily devours apace, and nothing said ; 

But that two-handed engine at the door, 

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no 
more. 
Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past, 

That shrunk thy streams ; return Sicilian 
muse, 

And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 

Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues. 

Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 

Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing 
brooks. 

On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely 
looks, 

ThroAv hither all your quaint enamelled eyes, 

That on the green turf suck the honied show- 
ers. 

And purple all the ground with vernal flow- 
ers. 

Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 

The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine. 

The white pink, and the pansy freaked with 
jet, 

The glowing violet, 

The musk-rose, and the well-attired wood- 
bine, 

With cowslips wan tliat hang the pensive 
head, 

And every flower that sad embroidery wears 

Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, 

And daflbdillies fill their caps witli tears. 

To strew tlie laureat hearse where Lycid lies 

For so to interpose a little ease, 

Let our frail thoughts dally with false sur 
mise. 



!)06 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND feOlUtOW. 



^y me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding 

seas 
Wash far away where'er thy bones are hurled, 
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
Where thon perhaps under tlie whelming tide 
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world ; 
Or whether thou to our moist vows denied, 
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 
"Where the great vision of the guarded mount 
Looks towards ISTamancos and Bayona's hold; 
Look homeward angel now, and melt with 

ruth! 
And, ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth ! 
Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no 

more! 
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead. 
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed. 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head. 
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled 

ore 
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky; 
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high. 
Through the dear might of Him that walked 

the waves. 
Where, other groves and other streams along, 
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves. 
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, 
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
There entertain bim all the saints above, 
In solemn troops and sweet societies, 
That sing, and sieging in their glory move. 
And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. 
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore. 
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
To an that wander in that perilous flood. 
Thus sang the uncouth swain to th' oaks 

and rills, 
While the still morn went out with sandals 

gray; 
He touched the tender stops of various quills, 
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay. 
And now the sun had stretched out all the 

hiUs, 
And now was dropt into the western bay ; 
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : 
Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new. 

John Milton. 



m REMEMBKANCE OF THE HOISl. 
EDWAPvD EEKEST YILIJERS. 



A GRACE though melancholy, manly too, 
Moulded his being ; pensive, grave, serene, 
O'er his habitual bearing and his mien 
Unceasing pain, by patience tempered, threv/ 
A shade of sweet austerity. But seen 
In happier hours and by the friendly few, 
That curtain of the spirit was withdrawn. 
And fancy light and playful as a fawn, 
And reason imped with inquisition keen. 
Knowledge long sought with ardor ever new, 
And wit love-kindled, showed in colors true 
What genial joys with sufi*erings can consist. 
Then did all sternness melt as melts a mist 
Touched by the brightness of the golden 

dawn, 
Aerial heights disclosing, valleys green, 
And sunlights thrown the woodland tufts bo 

tween. 
And flowers and spangles of the dewy lawn. 



And even the stranger, though he saw n,>t 

these, 
Saw what would not be willingly passed by. 
In his deportment, even when cold and shy. 
Was seen a clear collectedness and ease, 
A simple grace and gentle dignity. 
That failed not at the first accost to please •, 
And as reserve relented by degrees, 
So winning was his aspect and address, 
His smile so rich in sad felicities, 
Accordant to a voice which charmed no less. 
That who but saw him once remembered 

long, 
And some in whom such images are strong 
Have hoarded the impression in their heart 
Fancy's fond dreams and memory's I'oyK 

among, 
Like some loved relic of romantic song. 
Or cherished masterpiece of ancient art. 

in. 
His life was private ; safely led, aloof 
From the loud world, — which yet he under 
£itood 



I 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. 



507 



Largely and wisely, as no worldling could. 
For lie by privilege of Ms nature proof 
Against false glitter, from beneath the roof 
Of privacy, as from a cave, surveyed 
Witb steadfast eye its flickering light and 

shade. 
And gently judged for evil and for good. 
But whilst he mixed not for his own behoof 
In pubhc strife, his spirit glowed with zeal. 
Not shorn of action, for the public weal, — 
For truth and justice as its warp and woof, 
For freedom as its signature and seal. 
His life thus sacred from the world, discharged 
From vain ambition and inordinate care, 
In virtue exercised, by reverence rare 
Lifted, and by huraihty enlarged, 
Became a temple and a place of prayer. 
In latter years he walked not singly there ; 
Foi one was with him, ready at all hours 
His griefs, his joys, his inmost thoughts to 

share, 
Who buoyantly his burthens helped to bear, 
And decked his altars daily with fresh flowers. 

IV. 

But farther may we pass not ; for the ground 
Is holier than the muse herself may tread ; 
Nor would I it should echo to a sound 
Less solemn than the service for the dead. 
Mine is inferior matter, — my own loss, — 
The loss of dear delights for ever fled. 
Of reason's converse by affection fed. 
Of wisdom, counsel, solace, that across 
Life's dreariest tracts a tender radiance shed. 
Friend of my youth ! though younger yet my 

guide, 
How much by thy unerring insight clear 
I shaped my way of life for many a year, 
What thoughtful friendship on thy death-bed 

died! 
Friend of my youth ! whilst thou wast by my 

side 
Autumnal days still breathed a vernal breath ; 
How like a charm thy life to me supplied 
All waste and injury of time and tide. 
How like a disenchantment was thy death ! 

Hbnry Taylor. 



ELEGY ON" CAPTAIN MATTHEW 
HENDEESONT. 

Death ! thou tyrant feU and bloody 1 
The muckle devil wi' a woodie 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
And hke stockfish come o'er his studdie 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He 's gane ! he 's gane ! he 's frae us torn. 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
Thee, Matthew, nature's sel' shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exiled. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns. 
That proudly cock your cresting cairna ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns. 

Where echo slumbers ! 
Come join, ye nature's sturdiest bain s, 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens I 
Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' todlin' din. 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae linn to linn. 

Mourn, little haiebells owre the lea; 
Ye stately fbxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, 

In scented bowers ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flowers ! 

At dawn, when every grassy blade 

Droops with a diamond at his head, 

At even, when beans their fragrance shed 

I' th' rustling gale, 
Ye maukins, whiddin' througli the glade. 

Come, join my wail I 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud • 
Ye curlews calling through a clud ; 

Ye Avhistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood, 

lie 's i^ane for ever I 



!>08 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals ; 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wV airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye hitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Eair for his sake ! 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks, at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' fiowering clover gay ! 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae far worlds wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye howlets, frae your ivy bower, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tower. 
What time the moon, wi' silent glower. 

Sets up her horn. 
Wail through the weary midnight hour 

Till waukrife morn ! 

rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my cantie strains ; 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ; 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow ! 

Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year ! 
[Ik cowslip cup shall kep a tear ; 
Thou, simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up his head, 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, 

For him that 's dead 1 

Then autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, winter, hurling through the air 

The roaring blast. 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we 've lost! 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright. 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he 's taen his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever? 
And hast thou crossed that unknown river. 

Life's dreary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find another, 

The world around ? 



Go to your sculptured tombs, ye great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I 'U wait 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow'2 fate 

E'er lay in earths 

EOEEPT BURNii 



A FUJS^ERAL HYMIvT. 

Y'e midnight shades, o'er nature spread ! 

Dumb silence of the dreary hour ! 
In honor of th' approaching dead, 
Around your awful terrors pour. 

Yes, pour around. 

On this pale ground. 
Through all this deep surrounding glooiu, 

The sober thought, 

The tear untaught, 
Those meetest mourners at a tomb. 

Lo ! as the surpliced train draw near 

To this last mansion of mankind, 
The slow sad bell, the sable bier, 
In holy musings wrap the mind I 

And while their beam. 

With trembhng stream, 
Attending tapers faintly dart. 

Each mouldering bone, 

Each sculptured stone, 
Strikes mute instruction to the heart I 

Now, let the sacred organ blow. 
With solemn pause, and sounding slow ; 
Now, let the voice due measure keep. 
In strains that sigh, and words that weep 
Till all the vocal current blended roll, 
Not to depress, but lift the soaring soul • 

To lift it to the Maker's praise, 

Who first informed our frame with breath 
And, after some few stormy days. 
Now, gracious, gives us o'er to death. 

No king of fears 

In him appears. 
Who shuts the scene of human woes ; 

Beneath his shade 

Securely laid, 
The dead aloue find true repose. 



OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 



509 



rhen, while we mingle dust with dust, 

To One, supremely good and wise, 
Raise hallelujahs ! God is just, 
And man most happy when he dies! 
His winter past. 
Fair spring at last 
RvXjeives him on her flowery shore. 
Where pleasure's rose 
Immortal blows, 
And sin and sorrow are no more! 

David Mallktt. 



GAKE WERE BUT THE WINTER 
CAULD. 

Gane were but the winter cauld. 
And gane were but the snaw, 

I could sleep in the wild woods, 
Where primroses blaw. 

Cauld 's the snaw at my head, 

And cauld at my feet, 
And the linger o' death 's at my een, 

Closing them to sleep. 

Let nane tell my father, 

Or my mither sae dear ; 
I '11 meet them baith in heaven 

At the spring o' the year. 

Allan Cunningham. 



OH ! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S 
BLOOM. 

Oh ! snatched away in beauty's bloom, 
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ; 
But on thy turf shall roses rear 
Their leaves, the earliest of the year : 
And the wild cypress wave in tsnder gloom. 

And oft by you blue gushing stream 
Shall sorrow lean her drooping head, 

A nd feed deep thought with many a dream. 
And lingering pause and lightly tread — 
Fond wretch ! as if her step disturbed the 
dead. 

Away ! we know that tears are vain. 
That death nor heeds nor hears distress : 



Will this unteach us to complain ? 

Or make one mourner weep the less ? 
And thou — who tell'st me to forget, 
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 

LoBD Btbon. 



CORONACH. 

He is gone on the mountain. 

He is lost to the forest, 
Like a summer-dried fountain, 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font re-appearing 

From the rain-drops shall borrow ; 
But to us comes no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 
The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary, 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing, 

Waft the leaves that are searest, 
But our flower was in flushing, 

When blighting was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the correi, 

Sage counsel in cumber. 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber I 
Like the dew on the mountain, 

Like the foam on the river, 
Like the bubble on the fountain, 

Thou art gone, and for ever. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



OH ! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 

On ! breathe not his name ! let it sleep in tlic 

shade, 
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid • 
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, 
As the night dew that falls on the grave o'ei 

his liead. 

But the night dew that falls, though in silence 

it weeps. 
Shall brighten with verdure the grave wliere 

he sleeps ; 
And the tear that wo shed, though in secret 

it rolls, 
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls, 

Thomas Moors. 



510 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



A DIRGE. 



NoTV is done thy long day's work ; 
Fold thy palms across thy breast — 
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. 

Let them rave. 
Shadows of the silver birk 
Sweep the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



Thee nor carketh care nor slander ; 
i^othing but the small cold worm 
Fretteth' thine enshrouded form. 

Let them rave. 
Light and shadow ever wander 
O'er the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 

in. 

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ; 
Chanteth not the brooding bee 
Sweeter tones than calumny ? 

Let them rave. 
Thou wilt never raise thine head 
From the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



Crocodiles wept tears for thee ; 

The woodbine and eglatere 

Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. 

Let them rave. 
Rain makes music in the tree 
O'er the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



Round thee b^.ow, self-pleached deep 
Bramble roses, faint and pale, 
And long purples of the dale. 

Let them rave. 
These in every shower creep 
Tlirough the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 



VI. 

The gold-eyed kingcups fine, 
The frail bluebell peereth over 
Rare broid'ry of the purple clover. 

Let them rave. 
Kings have no such couch as thinCj 
As the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 

VII. 

Wild words wander here and there ; 
God's great gift of speech abused 
Makes thy memory confused— 

But let them rave. 
The balm-cricket carols clear 
In the green that folds thy grave. 

Let them rave. 

Alfeed Tknntsok. 



THE DIRGE OF IM0GE:N. 

Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 
Nor the furious winter's rages ; 

Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : 

Golden lads and girls all must, 

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Fear no more the frown o' the great- 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; 

Care no more to clothe and eat ; 
To thee the reed is as the oak. 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone 

Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
Thou hast finished joy and moan : 

All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

No exorciser harm thee I 
Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
Nothing ill come near thee ! 

Quiet consummation have ; 

And renowned be thy grave ! 

Shakespeabe. 



dir)3^e of jephthah's daughter. 



oil 



DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 

SUNG BY THE VIRGINS. 

O THOU, the wonder of all dayes ! 
O paragon, and pearl of praise ! 
O virgin-martyr, ever blest 

Above the rest 
Of all the maiden traine ! We come, 
And bring fresh strewings to thy tombe. 

Thus, thus, and thus we compasse round 
Thy harmlesse and unhaunted ground ; 
And as we sing thy dirge, we will 

The daffodill. 
And other flowers, lay upon 
The altar of our love, thy stone. 

Thou, wonder of all maids, rest here — 
Of daughters all, the deerest deere ; 
The eye of virgins ; nay, the queen 

Of this smooth green. 
And all sweet meades from whence we get 
The primrose and the violet. 

loo soone, too deere, did Jephthah buy, 

By thy sad losse, our liberty ; 

His was the bond and covenant, yet 

Thou paid'st the debt ; 
Lamented maid ! he won the day, 
But for the conquest thou didst pay. 

Thy father brought with him along 
The olive branch, and victor's song ; 
He slew the Ammonites we know — 

But to thy woe ; 
And in the purchase of our peace 
The cure was worse than the disease. 

For which obedient zeale of thine 
We ofier here, before thy shrine, 
Oar sighs for storax, teares for wine ; 

And, to make fine 
And fresh thy herse- cloth, we will here 
Four times bestrew thee every yeere. 

Receive, for this thy praise, our tears ; 
Receive this oftering of our haires ; 
Receive these christall vials, filled 
With tears distilled 



From teeming eyes ; to these we bring, 
Each maid, her silver filleting. 

To guild thy tombe ; besides, these caulos. 
These laces, ribbands, and these faules — 
These veiles, wherewith we use to hide 

The bashfull bride, 
W hen we conduct her to her groome ; 
All, all we lay upon thy tombe. 

No more, no more, since thou art dead, 
Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed ; 
No more, at yeerly festivalls, 

We cowslip balls, 
Or chaines of columbines, shall make 
For this or that occasion's sake. 

No, no ! our maiden pleasures be 
Wrapt in the winding-sheet with thee ; 
'T is we are dead, though not i' th' grave ; 

Or if we have 
One seed of life left, 't is to keep 
A Lent for thee, to fast and weep. 

Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, 
And make this place all paradise ; 
May sweets grow here, and smoke from 
hence 

Fat frankincense ; 
Let balme and cassia send their scent 
From out thy maiden monument. 

May no wolfe howle, or screech-owle stir 

A wing about thy sepulchre ; 

No boysterous winds or storms come hither. 

To starve or wither 
Thy soft sweet earth ; but, like a spring, 
Love keep it ever flourishing. 

May all shie maids, at wonted hours, 
Come forth to strew thy tombe with flowers 
May virgins, when they come to mourn, 

Male incense burn 
Upon thine altar ; then return, 
And leave thee sleeping in thy urn. 

Robert IIsbbice. 



512 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



DIRGE. 

*^ Oh dig a grave, and dig it deep, 
Where 1 and my true-loTe may sleep ! -' 
We HI dig a grave, and dig it deep^ 
Where tliou and thy true love shall sleep ! 

**iVnd let it be five fathom low, 
Where winter winds may never blow ! " 
And it shall le five fathoms low, 
Where winter winds shall never l)loio ! 

"And let it be on yonder hill, 
Where grows the mountain daffodil ! '* 
And it shall de on yonder hill, 
Where grows the mountain daffodil I 

"And plant it round with holy briers. 

To fright away the fairy fires ! " 

We''ll plant it round with holy Iriers, 
To fright away the fairy fires ! 

" And set it round with celandine, 
And nodding heads of columbine ! " 
We HI set it round icith celandine, 
And nodding heads of columbine ! 

" And let the ruddock build his nest 
Just above my true-love's breast ! " — 
The ruddoch Tie shall duild his nest 
Just above thy true-love'^s breast ! — 

"And warble his svv^eet wintry song 
O'er our dwelling all day long ! " 
AndJhe shall warble his sweet song 
O'er your dwelling all day long, 

"ISTow, tender friends, my garments take. 
And lay me out for Jesus' sake ! " 
And we will now thy garments talce. 
And lay thee out for Jesus' salce ! 

"And lay me by my true-love's side, 
That I may be a faithful bride ! " 

We'' II lay thee by thy true'love''s side. 
That thou may^st be a faithful bride! 

" When I am dead, and buried be, 
Pray to God in heaven for me ! " 
Now thou art dead, we'll bury thee. 
And pray to God in heaven for thee! 
Benedicite ! 
William Stanley Roscoe. 



DIRGE V^ CYMBELINE, 

SUXG BY GUIDEETJS AXD AEVIEAGUS OVER 
FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. 

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb 

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring 
Eacii opening sweet of earliest bloom. 

And rifle all the breathing spring. 

ISo wailing ghost shall dare appear, 
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove ; 

But shepherd lads assemble here. 
And melting virgins own their love. 

1^0 withered witch shaU here be seen- 
ISTo goblins lead their nightly crew ; 

The female fays shall haunt the green. 
And dress thy grave with pearly dew 

The redbreast oft, at evening hours, 
Shall kindly lend his little aid. 

With hoary moss, and gathered flowers^ 
To deck the ground where thou art laiJ 

When howling winds and beating rain 
In tempests shake the sylvan cell. 

Or 'midst the chase, on every plain. 
The tender thought on thee shall dwell, 

Each lonely scene shall thee restore, 
For thee the tear be duly shed ; 

Beloved till life can charm no more. 
And mourned till pity's self be dead. 
William Collinr. 



DIRGE. 

If thou wilt ease thine heart 
Of love, and all its smart — 

Then sleep, dear, sleep ! 
And not a sorrow 

Hang any tear on your eyelashes ; 

Lie still and deep, 
Sad soul, until the sea- wave washop 
The rim o' the sun to-morrow, 
In eastern sky. 



DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL. 



51.S 



But wilt thou cure thine heart 
Of love, and all its smart — 

Then die, dear, die ! 
'T is deeper, sweeter, 
Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming 

With folded eye ; 
And then alone, amid the beaming 
Of love's stars, thou 'It meet her 
In eastern sky. 

TnoMAS LovELL Bepdoes. 



BRIDAL SONG AND DIRGE. 

A OYPEESS-Bouon and a rose- wreath sweet, 
A wedding-robe and a winding-sheet, 
A bridal-bed and a bier ! 
Thine be the kisses, maid. 

And smiling love's alarms ; 
And thou, pale youth, be laid 
In the grave's cold arms : 
Each in his own charms — 

Death and Hymen both are here. 
So up with scythe and torch. 
And to the old church porch, 
While all the bells ring clear ; 
And rosy, rosy the bed shall bloom. 
And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb. 

Now tremble dimples on your cheek — 
Sweet be your lips to taste and speak. 
For he who kisses is near : 
By her the bridegod fair. 

In youthful power and force ; 
By him the grizard bare. 
Pale knight on a pale horse, 
To woo him to a corse — 

Death and Hymen both are here. 
So up with scythe and torch. 
And to the old church porch, 
While all the bells ring clear ; 
and rosy, rosy the bed shall bloom, 
AjoC earthy, earthy heap up the tomb. 
Thomas Lovbll Beddobs 



DIRGE. 



Softly ! 
She is lying 
With her lips apart. 

Softly! 
She is dying of a broken heart 



Whisper ! 
She is going 

To her final rest. 
Whisper ! 
Life is growing 
Dim within her breast. 

III. 
Gently! 
She is sleeping , 

She has breathed her last 
Gently! 
While you are weepmg, 
She to heaven has past ! 

Charles Gamage Eastman 



60 



DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL. 

Underneath the sod low-lying, 

Dark and drear, 
Sleepeth one who left, in dying 

Sorrow here. 

Yes, they 're ever bending o'er her 

Eyes that weep ; 
Forms, that to the cold grave bore het 

Vigils keep. 

When the summer moon is shining 

Soft and foir, 
Friends she loved in tears are twining 

Chaplets there 

Rest in peace, thou gentle spirit, 

Throned above — 
Souls like thine with God inherit 

Life and love ! 

.IaMES T. FlKLDft 



>14 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



A BKIDAL DIRGE. 

"Weave no more the marriage chain ! 

All umnated is the lover ; 
Death has ta'en the place of pain ; 
Love doth call on love in vain ; 

Life and years of hope are over ! 

^o more want of marriage bell ! 

No more need of bridal favor ! 
Where is she to wear them well ? 
You beside the lover, tell ! 

Gone — with all the love he gave her ! 

Paler than the stone she lies — 
Colder than the winter's morning . 

Wherefore did she thus despise 

(She with pity in her eyes) 
Mother's care, and lover's warning ? 

Youth and beauty — shall they not 
Last beyond a brief to-morrow ? 

No — a prayer and then forgot ! 

This the truest lover's lot, 

This the sum of human sorrow ! 

Barry Cornwall 



DIRGE. 



WnERS shall we make her grave ? 
Oh, where the wild-flowers wave 

In the free air ! 
When shower and singing bird 
'Midst the young kdves are heard- 

TJiere — lay her Here ! 

Harsh was the world to her — 
Now may sleep minister 

Balm for each ill ; 
Low on sweet nature's breast 
Let the meek heart find rest, 

Deep, deep and still ! 

Murmur, glad waters, by ! 
Faint gales, with happy sigh, 

Come wandering o'er 
That green and mossy bed. 
Where, on a gentle head, 

Storms beat no more ! 



What though for her in vain 
Falls now the bright spring-rain, 

Plays the soft wind ? 
Yet still, from where she lies, 
Should blessed breathings rise, 

Gracious and kind. 

Therefore let song and dew. 
Thence, in the heart renew 

Life's vernal glow ! 
And o'er that holy earth 
Scents of the violet's birth 

Still come and ^o ! 

Oh, then, where wild-flowers wav<), 
Make ye her mossy grave 

In the free air ! 
Where shower and singing-bird 
'Midst the young leaves are heard — 

There, lay her there ! 

Felicia Dorothea IIeman!! 



THE PHANTOM. 

Again I sit within the mansion. 

In the old, familiar seat ; 
And shade and sunshine chase each other 

O'er the carpet at my feet. 

But the sweet-brier's arms have wrestled 
upwards 

In the summers that are past. 
And the willow trails its branches lower 

Than when I saw them last. 

They strive to shut the sunshine wholly 
From out the haunted room — 

To fill the house, that once was joyful, 
With silence and with gloom. 

And many kind, remembered faces 

Within the doorway come — 
Voices, that wake the sweeter music 

Of one that now is dumb. 

They sing, in tones as glad as ever. 

The songs she loved to hear ; 
They braid the rose in summer garlands*, 

Whose flowers to her were dear. 



ICHABOD. 



615 



And still, her footsteps in the passage, 

Her blushes at the door, 
Her timid words of maiden welcome, 

Corne back to me once more. 

And all forgetful of my sorrow. 

Unmindful of my pain, 
[ think she has but newly left me, 

And soon will come again. 

She stays without, perchance, a moment, 
To dress her dark-brown hair ; 

[ hear the rustle of her garments — 
Her light step on the stair ! 

O fluttering heart ! control thy tumult. 

Lest eyes profane should see 
My cheeks betray the rush of rapture 

Her coming brings to me ! 

She tarries long : but lo ! a whisper 

Beyond^ the open door — 
And, gliding through the quiet sunshine, 

A shadow on the floor ! 

Ah ! 'tis the whispering pine that calls me, 
The vine whose shadow strays ; 

And my patient heart must still await her, 
E'or chide her long delays. 

But my heart grows sick with weary wait- 
ing, 
As many a time before : 
Her foot is ever at the threshold. 

Yet never passes o'er. 

Bayard Taylor. 



EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L. H. 

WouLDST thou heare what man can say 

Tn a little ? — reader, stay ! 

Underneath this stone doth lye 

As much beauty as could dye ; 

Which in life did harbor give 

To more vertue than doth live. 

If at all she had a fault. 

Leave it buried in this vault. 

One name was Elizabeth — 

Th' other, let it sleep with death : 

Fitter, where it dyed to tell, 

Than that it lived at all. Farewell ! 

Ben Jonbok. 



ICHABOD. 

So fallen ! so lost ! the light witharawn 

Which once he wore ! 
The glory from his grayTiairs gone 

For evermore ! 

Bevile him not — the tempter hath 

A snare for all ! 
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, 

Befit his fall ! 

Oh ! dumb is passion's stormy rage, 

When he who might 
Have lighted up and led his age, 

Falls back in night. 

Scorn ! Would the angels laugh, to mark 

A bright soul driven, 
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, 

From hope and heaven ? 

Let not the land, once proud of him. 

Insult him now ; 
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, 

Dishonored brow. 

But let its humbled sons, instead. 

From sea to lake, 
A long lament, as for the dead. 

In sadness make. 

Of all we loved and honored, naught 

Save power remains — 
A fallen angel's pride of thought, 

Still strong in chains. 

All else is gone ; from those great eyee 

The soul has fled : 
When fixith is lost, when honor dies, 

The man is dead ! 

Then, pay the reverence of old days 

To his dead fame ; 
Walk backward, with averted gaze, 

And hide the shame ! 

John Qreenleap "WnnriER. 



516 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



THE LOST LEADER. 



Just for a handful. of silver lie left us ; 

Just for a riband to stick in his coat — 
Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, 

Lost all the others she lets us devote. 
They, with the gold to give, doled him out 
silver, 
So much was theirs who so little allowed. 
How all our copper had gone for his service ! 
Eags — were thej purple, his heart had been 
proud ! 
We that had loved him so, followed him, hon- 
ored him. 
Lived in his mild and magnificent eve, 
Learned his great language, caught his clear 
accents. 
Made him our pattern to live and to die ! 
Shakspearewas of us, Milton was for us, 
Burns, Shelley, were with us — they watch 
from their graves ! 
[le alone breaks from the van and the free- 
men ; 
He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves ! 



II. 

We shall march prospering — not through his 
presence ; 
Songs may inspirit us — not from his lyre ; 
Deeds will be done — while he boasts his 
quiescence. 
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade 
aspire. 
Blot out his name, then — record one lost soul 
more. 
One task more declined, one more footpath 
untrod. 
One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for 
angels. 
One wrong more to man, one more insult 
to God! 
Life's night begins ; let him never come back 
to us! 
There would be doubt, hesitation and pain. 
Forced praise on our part — the glimmer of 
twilight, 
l^ever glad, confident morning again ! 



Best fight on well, for we taught him — strike 
gallantly, 
Aim at our heart ere we pierce through his 
own ; 
Then let him receive the new knowledge and 
wait us, 
Pardoned in heaven, the first by the 
throne ! 

EOBEUT BeOWNING. 



ON" THE FUNERAL OF CHARLES 
THE FIRST, 

AT NIGHT IN ST. GEORGE's CHAPEL, WINDSOK 

The castle clock had tolled midnight. 

With mattock and with spade — 
And silent, by the torches' light— 

His corse in earth we laid. 

The 3ofl5n bore his name ; that those 

Of other years might know. 
When earth its secrets should disclose, 

Whose bones were laid belov^. 

"Peace to the dead! " no children sung, 

Slow pacing up the nave ; 
No prayers were read, no knell was rung, 

As deep we dug his grave. 

We only heard the winter's wind. 

In many a sullen gust. 
As o'er the open grave inclined, 

We murmured, " Dust to dust ! " 

A moonbeam from the arch's height 
Streamed, as we placed the stone ; 

The long aisles started into light. 
And all the windows shone. 

We thought we saw the banners then 

That shook along the walls. 
Whilst the sad shades of mailed men 

Were gazing on the stalls. 



'T is gone ! — Again on tombs defaced 
Sits darkness more profound ; 

And only by the torch we traced 
The shadows on the ground. 



I 



ON THE DEATH OF GEORGE THE THIRD. 



517 



And now tlie chilling, freezing air 
Without blew long and loud ; 

Upon our knees we breathed one prayer, 
"Where he slept in his shroud. 

We laid the broken marble floor, — 

'No name, no trace appears ! 
And when we closed the sounding door, 

We thought of him with tears. 

William Lisle Bowles. 



BUEIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 

N OT a drum was heard, nor a funeral note. 
As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night. 
The sod with our bayonets turning, 

By the struggling moonbeams' misty light. 
And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin inclosed his breast, 
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him ; 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest. 
With his martial cloak around him ! 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 

But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the 
dead, 
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as Ave hollowed his narrow bed, 
And smoothed down his lonely pillow. 

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er 
his head. 
And we far awa} on the billow ! 

Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone, 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — 

But little he '11 reck if they let him sleep on. 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done. 
When the clock struck the hour for retir- 
ing; 

And we knew by the distant random gun, 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 



Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 

We carved not a line, we raised not a stone- 
But we left him alone in his glory. . 

Cha-kles Wolfe. 



ON THE DEATH OF GEORGE THE 
THIRD. 

WEITTEN UNDER WINDSOR TEERAOE. 

I SAW him last on this terrace proud. 
Walking in health and gladness, 

Begirt with his court ; and in all the crowd 
Not a single look of sadness. 

Bright was the sun, the leaves were green — 
Blithely the birds were singing ; 

The cymbals replied to the tambourine, 
And the bells were merrily ringing. 

I have stood with the crowd beside his bier, 
When not a word was spoken— 

When every eye was dim with a tear, 
And the silence by sobs was broken. 

I have heard the earth on his coffin pour 
To the muffled drums, deep rolling. 

While the minute-gun, with its solemn roar, 
Drowned the death-bells' tolling. 

The time — since he walked in his glory thus. 
To the grave till I saw him carried — 

Was an age of the mightiest change to us, 
But to him a night unvaried. 

A daughter beloved, a queen, a son. 
And a son's solo child, have perished ; 

And sad was each heart, save only the one 
By which they were fondest cherished ; 

For his eyes were sealed and his mind vvae 
dark. 

And he sat in his age's lateness — 
Like a vision throned, as a solemn mark 

Of the frailty of human greatness ; 

His silver beard, o'er a bosom s[)road 

Un vexed by life's commotion, 
Like a yearly lengthening snow-drii't shed 

On the calm of a frozen ocean. 



518 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



Still o'er him oblivion's waters lay, 
Though the stream of life kept flowing ; 

When they spoke of our king, 't was but to 
say 
The old man's strength was going. 

At intervals thus the waves disgorge. 

By weakness rent asunder, 
A piece of the wreck of the Koyal George, 

To the people's pity and wonder. 

He is gone at length — ^lie is laid in the dust, 
Death's hand his slumbers breaking ; 

For the coffined sleep of the good and' just 
Is a sure and blissful waking. 

His people's heart is his funeral urn ; 

And should sculptured stone be denied him, 
There will his name be found, when in turn 

We lay our heads beside him. 

HosACE Smith. 



THE WAKDEN^ OF THE OIKQUE POETS. 

A MIST was driving down the British chan- 
nel; 
The day was just begun ; 
And through the window-panes, on floor and 
panel. 
Streamed the red autumn sun. 

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pen- 
non, 
And the white sails of ships ; 
And, from the frowning rampart, the black 
cannon 
Hailed it with feverish lips. 

Sandwich and Romne}', Hastings, Hi the, and 
Dover, 

Were all alert that day. 
To see the French war-steamers speeding over 

When the fog cleared away. 

Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, 
Their cannon, through the night. 

Holding their breath, had watched in grim 
defiance 
The sea-coast opposite. 



And now they roared, at drum* beat, froiti 
their stations 
On every citadel ; 
Each answering each, with mornhig salulr^- 
tions. 
That all was well^ 

And down the coast, all taking up the burden., 

Eeplied the distant forts — 
As if to summon from his sleep the warden 

And lord of the Cinque Ports. 

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of 
azure, 
ISTo drum-beat from the wall, 
N"o morning gun from the black forts' embra- 
zure. 
Awaken with their call ! 

No more, surveying with an eye impartia. 

The long line of the coast. 
Shall the gaunt figure of the old field-marshal 

Be seen upon his post! 

For in the night, unseen, a single warrioi, 

In sombre harness mailed. 
Dreaded of man, and surnamed the destroyer, 

The rampart wall has scaled ! 

He passed into the chamber of the sleeper — 

The dark and silent room ; 
And, as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, 

The silence and the gloom. 

He did not pause to parley, or dissemble, 
But smote the warden hoar — 

Ah! what a blow! — that made all England 
tremble 
And groan from shore to shore. 

Meanwhile, without, the suriy cannon waited 
The sun rose bright o'erhead — 

N'othing in nature's aspect intimated 
That a great man was dead ! 

Hbnry Wads^oeth IjOnopelio-v; 



STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HOOD. 



519 



STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF 
THOMAS HOOD. 



Take back into thy bosom, earth, 

This joyous, May-eyed morrow, 
The gentlest child that ever mirth 

Gave to be reared by sorrow ! 
'T is hard — while rays half green, half gold, 

Through vernal bowers are burning. 
And streams their diamond-mirrors hold 

To summer's face returning — 
To say we 're thankful that his sleep 

Shall never more be lighter. 
In Avhose sweet-tongued companionship 

Stream, bower, and beam grew brighter * 



But all the more intensely true 

His soul gave out each feature 
Of elemental love — each hue 

And grace of golden nature — 
The deeper still beneath it all 

Lurked the keen jags of anguish ; 
The more the laurels clasped his brow 

Their poison made it languish. 
Seemed it that like the nightingale 

Of his own mournful singing. 
The tenderer would his song prevail 

While most the thorn was stinging. 

III. 
So never to the desert-worn 

Did fount bring freshness deeper, 
Than that his placid rest this morn 

Has brought the shrouded sleeper. 
That rest may lap his weary head 

"Where charnels choke the city. 
Or where, mid woodlands, by his bed 

The wren shall wake its ditty ; 
But near or far, while evening's star 

Is dear to hearts regretting. 
Around that spot admiring thought 

Shall hover, unforgetting. 



And if this sentient, seething world 

Is, after all, ideal. 
Or in the immaterial furled 

Alone resides the real, 



Freed one ! there 's a wail for thee this hour 

Through thy loved elves' dominions ; 
Hushed is each tiny trumpet-flower, 

And droopeth Ariel's pinions ; 
Even Puck, dejected, leaves his swing, 

To plan, with fond endeavor, 
What pretty buds and dews shall keep 

Thy pillow bright for ever. 

V. 

And higher, if less happy, tribes — 

The race of early childhood — 
Shall miss thy whims of frolic wit. 

That in the summer wild-wood, 
Or by the Christmas hearth, were hailed, 

And hoarded as a treasure 
Of undecaying merriment 

And ever-changing pleasure. 
Things from thy lavish humor flung 

Profuse as scents, are flying 
This kindling morn, when blooms are born 

As fast as blooms are dying. 

vr. 
Sublimer art owned thy control- 

The minstrel's mightiest magic. 
With sadness to subdue the soul, 

Or thrill it with the tragic. 
IlTow listening Aram's fearful dream, 

We see beneath the willow 
That dreadful thing, or watgh him steal, 

Guilt-lighted, to his pillow. 
Now with thee roaming ancient groves. 

We watch the woodman felling 
The funeral elm, while through its bougb.s 

The ghostly wind comes knelling. 

vn. 

Dear worshipper of Dian's face 

In solitary places, 
Shalt thou no more steal, as of yore, 

To meet her white embraces ? 
Is there no purple in the rose 

Henceforward to thy senses ? 
For thee have dawn and daylight's cl(^se 

Lost their sweet influences ? 
No 1 — ^by the mental night untamed 

Thou took'st to death's dark portal, 
The joy of the wide universe 

Is now to thee immortal 1 



520 



POEMS or TRAGEDY AND SORROW, 



VIII. 

Bow fierce contrasts the city's roar 

With thy new-conquered quiet ! — 
This stunning hell of wheels that pour 

With princes to their riot ! 
Loud clash the crowds — the busy clouds 

With thunder-noise are shaken, 
While pule, and mute, and cold, afar 

Thou liest. Fien-forsaken. 
Hot life reeks on, nor recks that one 

— The playful, human-hearted — 

Who lent its clay less earthiness, 

Is just from earth departed. 

B. Simmons. 



WHEN I BENEATH THE COLD, KED 
EAETH AM SLEEPING. 

When I beneath the cold, red earth am sleep- 
ing, 

Life's fever o'er, 
Will there for me be any bright eye weeping 

That I 'm no more ? 
Will there be any heart still memory keeping 

Of heretofore ? 

When the great winds, through leafless for- 
ests rushing, 

Like full hearts break — 
When the swoll'n streams, o'er crag and gully 
gushing, 

Sad music make — 
Will there be one, whose heart despair is 
crushing, 

Mourn for my sake ? 

When the bright sun upon that spot is shin- 
ing 

With purest ray, 
.^nd the small flowers, their buds and blos- 
soms twining, 

Burst through that clay — 
Will there be one still on that spot repining 
Lost hopes all day ? 

Whijn the night shadows, with the ample 
sweeping 

Of her dark pall, 



The world and all its manifold creation sleep- 
ing— 

The great and small — 
Will there be one, even at that dread hour, 
weeping 

For me — for all ? 



When no star twinkles with its eye of glory 

On that low mound. 
And wintry storms have with their ruine 
hoary 

Its loneness crowned, 
WiU there be then one versed in misery's 
story 

Pacing it round? 

It may be so — but this is selflsh sorrow 

To ask such meed — 
A weakness and a wickedness, to borrow 

From hearts that bleed 
The wailings of to-day, for what to-morrow 

Shall never need. 

Lay me then gently in my narrow dwelling^ 

Thou gentle heart ! 
And, though thy bosom should with grief be 
swelling, 

Let no tear start ; 
It were in vain — for time hath long beer 
knelling — 

Sad one, depart ! 

W^iLLiAM Motherwell, 



A POET'S EPITAPH. 

Stop, mortal ! Here thy brother lies — 

The poet of the poor. 
His books were rivers, woods, and skies, 

The meadow and the moor ; 
His teachers were the torn heart's wail^ 

The tyrant and the slave, 
The street, the factory, the jail, 

The palace — and the grave ! 
Sin met thy brother every where ! 

And is thy brother blamed ? 
From passion, danger, doubt, and care. 

He no exemption claimed. 
The meanest thing, earth's feeblest worm 



A LAMENT. 



52i 



He feared to scorn or hate ; 
But, honoring in a peasant's form 

The equal of the great, 
He blessed the steward, whose wealth makes 

The poor man's little, more ; 
Yet loathed the haughty wretch that takes 

From plundered labor's store. 
X hand to do, a head to plan, 

A heart to feel and dare — 
Tell man's worst foes, here lies the man 

"Who drew them as they are. 

Ebenezee Elliott. 



SOLITUDE. 

It is not that my lot is low 
That makes this silent tear to fiow ; 
It is not grief that bids me moan ; 
It is that I am all alone. 



In woods and glens I love to roam. 
When the tired hedger hies him home ; 
Or by the woodland pool to rest. 
When pale the star looks on its breast. 

Yet when the silent evening sighs 
With hallowed airs and symphonies, 
My spirit takes another tone, 
And sighs that it is all alone. 

The autunm leaf is sere and dead — 
It floats upon the water's bed ; 
I would not be a leaf, to die 
Without recording sorrow's sigh ! 

The woods and winds, with sullen wail, 
Tell all the same unvaried tale ; 
I Ve none to smile when I am free. 
And when I sigh to sigh with me. 

Yet in my dreams a form I view, 
That thinks on me, and loves me too , 
I start, and when the vision 's flown, 
I weep that I am all alone. 

Henry Kirke White. 



A LAMENT. 



SwTFTEE far than summer's flight, 
Swifter far than youth's delight. 
Swifter far than happy night. 

Art thou come and gone ; 
As the earth when leaves are dead. 
As the night when sleep is sped. 
As the heart when joy is fled, 

I am left lone, alone. 

The swallow, summer, comes again; 
The owlet, night, resumes her reign ; 
But the wild swan, youth, is fain 

To fly with thee, false as thou. 
My heart each day desires the morrow 
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow ; 
Vainly would my winter borrow 

Sunny leaves from any bough. 

Lilies for a bridal bed, 
Eoses for a matron's head, 
Violets for a maiden dead — 

Pan'^ies .et my flowers be ; 
Oil cLe living grave I bear, 
Scatter them without a tear, 
Let no friend, however dear, 

Waste one hope, one fear for me. 
Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



A LAMENT. 

WORLD ! life ! time ! 
On whose last steps I climb, 

Trembling at that where I had stood before, 
When will return the glory of your prime? 

No more — oh, never more ' 

Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken flight ; 

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar 
Move ray ftiint heart with grief, but with 
deliglit 
No more — oh, never more ! 

Percy Bysshe Shelley, 



522 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SOEROW. 



" CALM IS THE OTGHT." 

Calm is the night, and the city is sleeping— 
Once in this house dwelt a lady fair; 

Long, long ago, she left it, weeping ; 
But still the old house is standing there. 

Yonder a man at the heavens is staring, 
Wringing his hands as in sorrowful case ; 

He turns to the moonlight, his countenance 
baring — 
Oh, heaven ! he shows me my own sad face ! 

Shadowy form, with my own agreeing I 
Why mockest thou thus, in the moonlight 
cold, 

The sorrows which here once vexed my being, 
Many a night in the days of old ? 

Henry Heine. (German.) 
Translation of Charles G. Leland. 



THE CASTLE BY THE SEA. 

•' Hast thou seen that lordly castle. 

That castle by the sea? 
Golden and red, above it 

The clouds float gorgeously. 

•' And fain it would stoop downward 
To the mirrored wave below ; 

And fain it would soar upward 
In the evening's crimson glow." 

"Well have I seen that castle, 

That castle oy the sea — 
And the moon above it standing. 

And the mist rise solemnly." 

" The winds and waves of ocean. 

Had they a merry chime ? 
Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers. 

The harp and the minstrel's rhyme? " 

'* The winds and the waves of ocean, 

They rested quietly ; 
But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, 

And tears came to mine eye." 

" And sawest thou on the turrets 
The king and his royal bride ? 

And the wave of their crimson mantles? 
Aj\(l the golden crown of pride ? 



"Led they not forth, in rapture, 

A beauteous maiden there — 
Resplendent as the morning sun, 

Beaming with golden hair ? " 

"Well saw I the ancient parenta, 

Without the crown of pride ; 
They were moving slow, in weeds of woe ; 

No maiden was by their side ! " 

Ljdttig TJhland. (German.) 
Translation of Henry W. Longfellow. 



MOTHER AND POET. 

TtJEIN — AFTER NEWS FEOM GAETA. 



1861. 



Dead ! one of them shot by the sea in the 
east. 
And one of them shot in the west by the 
sea. 
Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the 
feast 
And are wanting a great song for Italy free. 
Let none look at me ! 



Yet I was a poetess only last year, 

And good at my art, for a woman, men 
said. 
But this woman, this, who is agonized here. 
The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her 
head 

For ever instead. 



What art can a woman be good at? oh, vain! 
What art is she good at, but hurting her 
breast 
With the milk teeth of babes, and a smile at 
the pain ? 
Ah, boys, how yoa hurt! you were strong 
as you pressed. 
And I, proud by that test. 

What art 's for a woman ! To hold on her 
knees 
Botl larlings! to feel all their arms round 
rier throat 



MOTHER AND POET. 



528 



CJmg, struggle a little ! to sew by degrees 
And 'br Older tl)e long-clotbes and neat 
little coat ! 

To dream and to dote. 



To teacb them. . . It stings tliere. I made 
them indeed 
Speak plain the word " country," I taught 
them no doubt 
That a country 's a thing men should die for 
at need. 
I prated of liberty, rights, and about 
The tyrant turned out. 

And when their eyes flashed. . . my beau- 
tiful eyes ! . . 
I exulted! nay, let them go forth at the 
wheels 
Of the guns, and denied not. — But then the 
surprise, 
"When one sits quite alone! — Then one 
weeps, then one kneels ! 
— God ! how the house feels ! 

VII. 

At first happy news came, in gay letters 
moiled 
With my kisses, of camp-life, and glory, 
and how 
They both loved me, and soon, coming home 
to be spoiled, 
In return would fay off every fly from my 
brow 

With their greeu laurel-bough. 

vm. 
Then was triumph at Turin. ' Ancona was 
free!" 
And some one came out of the cheers in 
the street 
With a face pale as stone, to say something 
to me. 
— My Guido was dead ! — I fell down at his 
feet, 

While they cheered in tlie street, 

IX. 

I bore it ; — friends soothed me : my grief 
looked sublime 
As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained 



To be leant on and walked with, recalling the 
time 
When the first grew immortal, while both 
of us strained 
To the height he had gained. 



And letters still came, — shorter, sadder, more 
strong, 
Writ now but in one hand. " I was not to 
faint. 
One loved me for two . . would be with me 
ere long : 
And * viva Italia ' he died for, our saint, 
Who forbids our complaint." 

XI. 

My Nanni would add ''ho was safe, and 
aware 
Of a presence that turned off the balls . . . 
was imprest 
It was Guido himself, who knew what I could 
bear. 
And how 'twas impossible, quite dis- 
possessed. 

To live on for the rest." 

XII. 

On which without pause up the telegraph 
line 
Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta: 
—"Shot. 
Tell his mother." Ah, ah, ^'his," "their" 
mother; not "mine." 
No voice says " my mother " again to ma 
What! 

You think Guido forgot ? 

xin 

Are souls straiglit so happy that, dizzy with 
heaven. 
They drop earth's affections, conceive not 
of woe? 
I think not. Themselves were too lately for- 
given 
Through that love and sorrow wliich i ocon- 
ciled 30 
The above and below. 



524 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY AND SORROW. 



XIV. 

O Christ of the seven wounds, who look'dst 
through the dark 
To the face of thy mother! consider, I pray, 
FTow we common mother! stand desolate, 
mark, 
Whose sons, not being Christs, die with 
eyes turned away. 
And no last word to say ! 

XV. 

lloih boys dead ! but that 's out of nature ; 
We all 
Have been patriots, yet each house must 
always keep one. 
T were imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall. 
And when Italy 's made, for what end is it 
done, 

If we have not a son ? 



Ah, ah, ah ! when Gaeta 's taken, what then ? 
When the fair wicked queen sits no more 
at her sport 
Of the fire-balls of death crashing souls out 
of men ? 
When your guns at Cavalh with final retort 
Have cut the game short. — 

XVII. 

When Venice and Rome keep their new 
jubilee. 
When yoar flag takes all heaven for its 
white, green, and red. 
When you have your country from mountain 
to sea. 
When King Victor has Italy's crown on 
his head, 

(And I have my dead,) 

XVIII. 

What then ? Do not mock me. Ah, ring 
your bells low. 
And burn your lights faintly ! — My country 
is there, 
Above the star pricked by the last peak of 
snow. 
My Italy's there, — with my brave civic 
pair, 

To disfranchise despair. 



XIX. 

Forgive me. Some women bear children in 
strength, 
And bite back the cry of their pain in self- 
scorn. 
But the birth-pangs of nations will wring ue 
at length 
Into such wail as this! — and we sit on 
forlorn 

When the man-child is born, 

XX. 

Dead ! one of them shot by the sea in the 
west. 
And one of them shot in the east by the 
sea! 
Both ! both my boys ! — If in keeping the feast 
You want a great song for your Italy free, 
Let none look at me ! 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning 



THE FISHING SONG, 

Down in the wide, gray river 
The current is sweeping strong ; 

Over the wide, gray river 
Floats the fisherman's song. 

The oar-stroke times the singing, 
The song falls with the oar ; 

And an echo in both is ringing, 
I thought to hear no more. 

Out of a deeper current 
The song brings back to me 

A cry from mortal silence 
Of mortal agony. 

Life that was spent and vanished, 
Love that had died of wrong. 

Hearts that are dead in living. 

Come back in the fisherman's song. 

I see the maples leafing. 
Just as they leafed before ; 

The green grass comes no greenei 
Down to the very shore — 

With the rude strain swelhng, sinking 
In the cadence of days gone by, 

As the oar, from the water drinking. 
Eipples the mirrored sky. 



THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE. 



525 



Yet the soul hath life diviner ; 

Its past returns no more, 
l^ut in echoes, that answer the minor 

Of the boat-song, from the shore. 

And the ways of God are darkness ; 

His judgment waiteth long ; 
He breaks the heart of a woman 

With a fisherman's careless song. 

EosB Teeky. 



*' BREAK, BREAK, BREAK." 

Bkeak, break, break 

On thy cold gray stones, sea ! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 

The thoughts that arise in me. 

Ob well for the fisherman's boy 
That he shouts with his sister at play ! 

Oh well for the sailor lad 
That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 

And the stately ships go on, 

To the haven under the hill ; 
But oh for the touch of a vanished hand. 

And the sound of a voice that is still ! 

Break, break, break 

At the foot of thy crags, sea ! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me, 

Altbed Tennyson. 



THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE. 

Tears, idle tears ! I know nol what they 
mean. 
Tears, from the depth of some divine despair. 
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, 
In looking on the happy autumn fields, 
And thinking of the days that are no more. 

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail 
That brings our friends up from the under- 
world ; 
Sad as the last which reddens over one 
That sinks with all we love below the verge 
So sad, so fiesh, the days that are no more. 

Ah, sad and strange as in dark sunlmer 

dawns 
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds 
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 
The casement slowly grows a glimmering 

square : 
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 

Dear as remembered kisses after death, 
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned 
On lips that are for others ; deep as love, 
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret, 
O death in life ! the days that are no more. 

A-LFBED TENNTSOIi 



PART VIII. 
POEMS 07 THE IMAGINATION^ 



1 K>ow more than Apollo ; 
For oft, when he lies sleeping^ 
I behold the stars 
At mortal wars, 
And the rounded welkin weeping. 
The moon embraces her shepherd ; 
ind the queen of love her warrior; 
While the first doth horn 
The stars of the morn, 
ind the next the heavenly farrier. 

fVit.h a host of furious fancies, 
>Vhereof I am commander — 

"With a burning spear. 

And a horse of air, 
To the wilderness I wander ; 
/ith a knight of ghosts and shadows. 
T summoned am to tourney, 

Ten leagues beyond 

The wide world's end — 
Methiuks it ^'s no journey ! 

TOMO' IXOLAM. 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Kma ARTHUR^S DEATH. 

Os Trinitye Mondaye in the morne, 
This sore battayle was doom'd to be, 

Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye ! — 
Alacke, it was the more pittie. 

Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 
When as the kinge in his bed laye, 

lie thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came, 
And there to him tliese wordes did saye : 

" J^owe, as you are mine uncle deare. 
And as you prize your life, this daye 

Oh meet not with your foe in fighte ; 
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye ! 

''For Sir Lanncelot is no we in Fraunce, 
And with him many an hardye knighte, 

Who will within this moneth be backe, 
And will assiste yee in the fighte." 

The kinge then called his nobles all. 
Before the breakinge of the daye, 

And tolde them howe Sir Gawaine came. 
And there to him these wordes did saye. 

His nobles all this counsayle gave : 
That, earlye in the morning, hee 

Sliold send awaye an herauld at armes, 
To aske a parley faire and free. 

Then twelve good knightesKing Arthur chose, 
The best of all that with him were, 

To parley with the foe in field. 
And make with him agreement faire. 
71 



The king he charged all his hoste 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre, 

Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see. 

And Mordred, on the other parte. 

Twelve of his knights did likewise brings 

The beste of all his companye, 

To holde the parley with the kinge. 

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre, 

But if a sworde drawne they shold see. 

For he durste not his uncle truste, 
iN'or he his nephewe, sothe to tell ; 

Alacke ! it was a woefulle case. 
As ere in Christentye befell e. 

But when they were together mette, 
And both to faire accordance broughte, 

And a month's league betweene them sette, 
Before the battayle sholde be foughte, 

An^ddere crepte forthe of a bushe, 

Stunge one o' the king's knightes on the 
knee ; 

Alacke ! it was a woefulle chance, 
As ever was in Christentie. 

When the knighte found him wounded sore, 
And sawc the wild-wormo hanginge thera 

Ilis sworde ho from his scabberdo drewe — 
A piteous case, as ye shall heare. 



530 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



For when the two hostes sawe the sworde 
They joyned battayle instantlye ; 

Till of so manye noble knightes 

On one side there were left but three. 

For all were slaine that durst abide, 
And but some fewe that fled awaye ; 

Ah mee ! it was a bloodye fielde, 
As ere was foughte on summer's daye. 

Upon King Arthur's own partye 

Onlye himselfe escaped there, 
And Lukyn, duke of Gloster, free — 

And the king's butler, Bedevere. 

And when the king beheld his knightes 
All dead and scattered on the molde, 

The teares fast trickled downe his face — 
That manlye face in fight so bolde. 

"Nowe reste yee all, brave knights," he 
said — 

" Soe true and faithful to your trust ! 
And must yee then, yee valiant hearts, 

Be lefte to moulder into dust ? 

** Most loyal have yee been to mee, 
Most true and faithful unto deathe ; 

And, oh ! to rayse yee up againe. 
How freelye could I yield my breothe! 



""Alas ! " then sayd the noble king, 
" That I should live this sight to see ! — 

To see this good knight here be slaine, 
All for his love in helping mee ! " 

He put his speare into his reste. 

And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye : 
"N'owe sette thyself upon thy guarde! 

For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye ! " 

Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde. 
And fierce to meet the king ran hee , 

The king his speare he through him thrust — 
A fathom thorow his bodie. 

When Mordred felt the stroke of death. 
And found that he was wounded soe, 

He thruste himselfe upon the speare, 
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe. 

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered, 

Presently e upon that tree ; 
And bloody streames ranne from the kingc^. 

Ere to the duke returned hee. 

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake : 

"Sir knighte, thou hast been faithfully 
tryde ; 
IS^owe take my sword Excalibar, 

That bangs so freelye by my syde— 



*' But see, the traitor 's yet alive ! 

Lo where hee stalkes among the deade I 
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye. 

And vengeance fall upon his head." 

'• Oil staye, my liege! " then sayd the duke 
'' Oh staye for love and charitie ! 

Kcra ember what the vision spake, 
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee." 

'* Oh staye mee not, thou worthye wight! 

This debt my loyal knights I owe ; 
/betide me life, betide me death, 

T will avenge them of their foe." 

Then straite he grasped his trusty speare. 
And on his horse then mounted hee : 

As his butler holpe him to his horse 
His bowel? gushed to his knee. 



•' Oh take my sworde Excalibar, 
And there into the river throwe ; 

For here, henceforth, benethe this tree, 
All use of weapons I foregoe. 

"And fare thee well, thou trustye sword! 

A better neer had valiant knighte ; 
With thee full ofte, and many a daye, 

Have I withstood my foe in fighte. 

" With this good fauchion in my hande, 
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde ; 

But nowe the fatalle houre is come. 
That never more I may thee weelde.'' 

Tlie duke to the river side he Avent, 

And there his owne sword in threwe he 

But he kept back Excalibar — 
He kept it back in privitie. 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 



53] 



For all of coleyne was the blade, 
And all the hilte of precious stone : 

'And ever alacke! " then sayd the knighte, 
''Must such a sword awaye be throwne? " 

Tlien backe he came unto the kinge, 
Whb sayd, "Sir Lukyn, what did yee 
see ? "— 

" N"othing, my liege, save bhat the winde 
Blewe oer the waters faire and free." 

" Oh goe againe," then said the kinge, 
" O good Syr Lukyn, goe againe ! 

fnto the rivere throwe my sword, 
Kor keepe me lingering here ia paine." 

The duke then to the river went, 
And the king's scabbard in threwe hee ; 

But hee kept backe Excalibar, 
And hid it undernethe a tree. 

Then backe he came to tell the kinge, 

Who sayde, " Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte ? " 

"ISTothinge, my liege, save that the winde 
No we with the angry e waters fought.'' 

^'O Lukyn, Lukyn," said the kinge, 
"Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye ! 

Alacke ! whom may wee ever truste, 
When suche a knighte soe false can bee ? 

^' Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead, 
All for a sword that wins thine eye ? 

Now goe againe, and throwe it in, 
Or here the one of us shall dye." 

The duke, all shent with this rebuke, 
Xo aunswere made unto the kinge ; 

But to the rivere tooke the sworde, 
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge. 

A hande and an arme did meete the sworde. 
And flourished three times in the air ; 

Then sunke benethe the renninge streme. 
And of the duke was scene noe mair. 

A.11 sore astonied stood the duke — 
He stood as still as still mote bee ; 

Then hastend backe to tell the kinge — 
But he was gone from under the tree. 



But to what place he cold not tell, 
For never after hee did him see ; 

But hee sawe a barge goe from the land, 
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye. 

And whether the kinge were there or not, 
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde ; 

For from that sad and direfulle daye 
Hee never more was seene on molde. 

Anonymoub. 



THOMAS THE KHYMER. 

Tkue Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ; 

A ferlie he spied wi' his ee ; 
And there he saw a ladye bright, 

Come riding down by the Eildon tree. 

Her shirt was o' the grass green silk, 
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; 

At ilka tett of her horse's mane 
Hung fifty siller bells and nine. 

True Thomas he pulled aff his cap, 
And louted low down to his knee ; 

" All hail, thou mighty queen of heaven ! 
For thy peer on earth I never did see."-- 

" Oh no, oh no, Thomas! " she said, 
" That name does not belang to me ; 

I am but the queen of fair Elfland, 
That am hither come to visit thee. 

"Harp and carp, Thomas! " she said 
" Harp and carp along wi' me ! 

And if ye dare to kiss my lips, 
Sure of your bodie I will be." 

"Betide me weal, betide me woe, 
That weird shall never daunton me." — 

Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, 
All underneath the Eildon tree. 

"Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said — 
" True Thomas, ye maun go wf me ; 

And ye maun serve me seven years. 

Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." 



5Hii 



POEMS OF THE IM AGI>s^ ATION. 



She mounted on her milk-white steed ; 

She's ta'en true Thomas up behind ; 
And ave, whene'er her bridle rung, 

The steed flew swifter than the wind. 

And they rade on, and farther on — 
The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; 

Until they reacned a desert wide, 
And living land was left behind. 

"Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee ! 

Abide and rest a little space. 

And I will shew you ferlies three. 

" Oh see ye not yon narrow road, 
So thick beset with thorns and briers ? 

That is the path of righteousness. 
Though after it but few enquires. 

'And see ye not that braid, braid road. 
That lies across that lily leven ? 

That is the path of wickedness — 

Though some call it the road to heaven. 

'^ And see not ye that bonny road. 
That winds about the fernie brae ? 

That is the road to fair Elfland, 
Where fchou and I this night maun gae. 

''But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, 

Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
For, if you speak word in Elfyn land, 

Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie." 

Oh Ihey rade on, and farther on, 

And they waded through rivers aboon the 
knee ; 
And they saw neither sun nor moon, 

But they heard the roaring of the sea. 

It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae 
stern light. 
And they waded through red blude to the 
knee; 
Fur a' the blude that's shed on earth 
Rins through the springs o' that countrie. 

Byne they came on to a garden green, 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree : 

"Take this for thy wages, true Thomas — 
Tt will give thee the tongue that can never 
lie." 



" My tongue is mine ain ; " true Thomas said • 
" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me ■ 

I neither dought to buy nor sell, 
At fair or tryst where I may be. 

" I dought neither speak to prince or peer, 
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." — 

"Now hold thy peace ! '' the lady said, 
"For as I say. so must it be." — 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 

And till seven years were gane and past, 
True Thomas on earth was never seen. 

Anonymous. 



TEE WEE WEE MAN. 

As 1 was walking by my lane. 
At ween a water and a wa, 

There sune I spied a wee, wee man- 
He was the least that ere I saw. 

His legs were scant a shathmont's length, 
And sma and limber was his thie ; 

Between his een there was a span. 

Betwixt his shoulders there were ells three 

He has tane up a meikle stane. 
And flang 't as far as I cold see ; 

Ein thouch I had been Wallace wicht, 
I dought na lift it to my knie. 

" O wee, wee man, but ye be Strang j 
Tell me whar may thy dwelling be ? " 

" I dwell benetli that bonnie bouir— 
Oh will ye gae wi me and see ? " 

On we lap, and awa we rade. 

Till we cam to a bonny green ; 
We lichted syne to bait our steid, 

And out there cam a lady sheen 

Wi four and twentie at her back, 
A comely cled in glistering green , 

Thouch there the king of Scots had stude, 
The warst micht weil hae been his queen 



THE MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW. 



533 



On syne we past wi wondering cheir, 

Till we cam to a bonny ha ; 
The roof was o' the beaten gowd, 

The flure was o' the crystal a'. 

When we cam there, wi wee, wee knichts 
War ladies dancing, jimp and sma ; 

But in the twinkling of an eie 
Baith green and ha war clein awa. 

Anonymous. 



THE MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIN 
GOOD-FELLOW 

From Oberon, in fairy land. 

The king of ghosts and shadowes there, 
Mad Robin, I, at his command. 
Am sent to view the night-sports here. 
What revell rout 
Is kept about 
In every corner where I go, 
I will o'ersee, 
And merrie be, 
And make good sport with ho, ho, ho ! 

More swift than lightning can I flye 

About the aery welkin soone, 
^nd in a minute's space descrye 
Each thing that 's done belowe the moone. 
There 's not a hag 
Or ghost shall wag, 
Or cry 'ware goblins ! where I go ; 
But Robin, I, 
Their feates will spy. 
And send them home with ho, ho, ho ! 

Whene'er such wanderers I meete, 

x\s from their night-sports they trudge home, 
With counterfeiting voice I greete. 
And call them on with me to roame. 
Thro' woods, thro' lakes. 
Thro' bogs, thro' brakes. 
Or else unseene, with them I go — 
All in the nicke, 
To play some tricke. 
And frolick it with ho, ho, hoi 



Sometimes I meete them like a man — 

Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound ; 
And to a horse I turn me can. 

To trip and trot about them round ; 
But, if to ride. 
My backe they stride, 
More swift than wind away I goe ; 
O'er hedge and lands. 
Through pools and ponds, 
I whirry, laughing ho, ho, ho ! 

When lads and lasses merry be, 

With possets, and with junkets fine, 
Unseene of all the company, 

I eat their cakes, and sip their wine ; 
And to make sport, 
I fume and snort. 
And out the candles I do blow. 
The maids I kiss ; 
They shrieke, Who's this? 
I answer nought but ho, ho, ho ! 

Yet now and then, the maids to please, 

At midnight I card up their wooll ; 
And while they sleepe and take their ease. 
With wheel to threads their flax I pull. 
I grind at mill 
Their malt up still ; 
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow. 
If any wake. 
And would me take, 
I wend me laughing ho, ho, ho 1 

When house or hearth doth sluttish lye, 

I pinch the maidens black and blue ; 
The bedd-clothes from the bedd pull I, 
And in their ear I bawl too-whoo ! 
'Twixt sleepe and wake 
I do them take, 
And on the clay-cold floor them thro^ 
If out they cry, 
Then forth I fly. 
And loudly laugh out ho, ho, ho ! 

When any need to borrow ouglit, 

We lend tliem what they do require ; 
And for tlie use demand we naught — 
Our owne is all we do desire. 
If to repay 
They do delay, 



5?i 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Abroad amongst them then I go ; 

And night by night 

I them affright, 
With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho ! 

When lazie queans have nought to do 

But study how to cog and lye, 
To make debate and mischief too, 
'Twixt one another secretly, 
I marke their gloze, 
And it disclose 
To them whom they have wronged so. 
When I have done 
I get me gone, 
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho ! 

When men do tiVtps and engines set 

In loope holes, where the vermine creepe, 
Who from their foldes and houses get 
Their duckes and geese, and lambes and 
sheepe, 

I spy the gin, 
And enter in. 
And seeme a vermin taken so ; 
But when they there 
Approach me neare, 
I leap out laughing ho, ho, ho ! 

Uy wells and rills, in meadowes green. 

We nightly dance our hey-day guise ; 
And to our fairye kinge and queene 
We chaunt our moon-lighte minstrelsies. 
When larkes gin singe 
Away we flinge. 
And babes new-born steale as we go ; 
And shoes in bed 
AYe leave instead, 
And wend us laughing ho, ho, ho ! 

From hag-bred Merlin's time have I 
Thus nightly revelled to and fro ; 
And, for my prankes, men call me by 
The name of Robin Good- Fellow. 

Friends, ghosts, and sprites 
Who haunt the nightes. 
The hags and gobblins, do me know * 
And beldames old 
My feates have told — 
So vale^ vale ! Ho, ho, ho ! 

A.NONYMOX:S. 



THE FAIRY QUEEN. 

Come, follow, follow me — 
You, fairy elves that be, 
Which circle on the green — 
Come, follow Mab, your queen ! 

Hand in hand let 's dance around, 

For this place is fairy ground. 

When mortals are at rest, 

And snoring in their nest, 

Unheard and unespied. 

Through keyholes we do glide ; 
Over tables, stools, and shelves, 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 

And if the house be foul 

With platter, dish, or bowl. 

Up stairs we nimbly creep, 

And find the sluts asleep ; 
There we pinch their arms and thigbb- 
IvTone escapes, nor none espies. 

But if the house be swept, 
And from uncleanness kept. 
We praise the household maid. 
And duly she is paid ; 

For we use, before we go. 

To drop a tester in her shoe. 

Upon a mushroom's head 

Our table cloth we spread ; 

A grain of rye or wheat 

Is manchet, which we eat ; 
Pearly drops of dew we drink, 
In acorn cups, filled to the brmk. 

The brains of nightingales, 
With unctuous fat of snails, 
Between two cockles stewed. 
Is iiieat that 's easily chewed ; 
Tails of worms, and marrow of mice, 
Do make a dish that's wondrous nice 

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, 

Serve us for our minstrelsy ; 

Grace said, we dance a while, 

And so the time beguile ; 
And if the moon doth hide lier head. 
The glow-worm lights us home to bed 



FAIRY SONG. 



5St 



On tops of dewy grass 
So nimbly do we pass, 
The young and tender stalk 
Ne'er bends when we do walk ; 
Yet in the morning may be seen 
Where we the night before have been. 

Anonymous. 



THE FAIRIES' SONG. 

We dance on hills above the wind, 
And leave our footsteps there behind ; 
Which shall to after ages last, 
When all our dancing days are past. 

Sometimes we dance upon the shore, 
To whistling winds and seas that roar ; 
Then we make the wind to blow, 
And set the seas a-dancing too. 

The thunder's noise is our delight. 
And lightnings make us day by night ; 
And in the air we dance on high, 
'J'o the loud music of the sky. 

About the moon we make a ring, 
And falling stars we wanton fling. 
Like squibs and rockets, for a toy ; 
While what frights others is our joy. 

But when we 'd hunt away our cares. 
We boldly mount the galloping spheres ; 
And, riding so from east to west, 
We chase each nimble zodiac beast. 

Thus, giddy grown, we make our beds, 
With thick, black clouds to rest our heads. 
And flood the earth with our dark showers, 
That did but sprinkle these our bowers. 

Thus, having done with orbs and sky. 
Those mighty spaces vast and high. 
Then down we come and take the shapes, 
Sometimes of cats, sometimes of apes. 

N'ext, turned to mites in cheese, forsooth. 
We get into some hollow tooth ; 
Wherein, as in a Christmas hall, 
We frisk and dance, the devil and all. 



Then we change our wily features 
Into yet far smaller creatures. 
And dance in joints of gouty toes. 
To painful tunes of groans and woes. 

ANONYMOUa 



SONG OF THE FAIRY. 

OvEE hill, over dale. 

Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
Over park, over pale, 

Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
I do wander every where. 
Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 
And I serve the fairy queen, 
To dew her orbs upon the green ; 
The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 
In their gold coats spots you see : 
These be rubies, fairy favors — 
In those freckles live their savors. 
I must go seek some dewdrops here, 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 

SlIAKESPEAEI: 



FAIRY SONG. 

Shed no tear ! oh shed no tear ! 
The flower will bloom another year. 
Weep no more ! oh weep no more I 
Y'oung buds sleep in the root's white core, 
Dry your eyes ! oh dry your eyes ! 
For I was taught in Paradise 
To ease my breast of melodies — 
Shed no tear. 

Overhead ! look overhead ! 
'Mong the blossoms white and red- 
Look up, look up ! I flutter now 
On this fresh pomegranate bough. 
See me ! 't is this silvery bill 
Ever cures the good man's ill. 
Shed no tear ! oh shed no tear ! 
The flower will bloom another year. 
Adieu, adieu — I fly — adieu ! 
I vanish in the heaven's blue — 

Adieu, adieu I 

John KBA-nw 



>:i5 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



SOXG OF FAIRIES. 

We the fairies, blithe and antic, 
Of dimensions not gigantic, 
Though the moonshine mostly keep us, 
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us. 

Stolen sweets are always sweeter ; 
Stolen kisses much completer ; 
Stolen looks are nice in chapels : 
Stolen, stolen be your apples. 

When to bed the world are bobbing. 

Then 's the time for orchard-robbing ; 

Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling 

Were it not for stealing, stealing. 

Thomas Eandolph. (Latin.) 
Iranslation of Leigh Hunt. 



LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI. 



A BALLAD. 



On what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! 

Alone and palely loitering? 
The sedge has withered from the lake, 

And no birds sing. 



Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! 

So haggard and so woe-begone ? 
The squirrel's granary is full, 

And the harvest 's done. 



I see a lily on thy brow. 

With anguish moist and fever dew ; 
A.nd on thy cheeks a fading rose 

Fast withereth too. 



I met a lady in the mead — 
Full beautiful, a fairy's child ; 

Her hair was long, her foot was Jght, 
And her eyes were wild. 



I made a garland for her head. 

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; 

She looked at me as she did love, 
And made sweet moan. 



VI. 



I set her on my pacing steed. 

And nothing else saw all day long ; 

For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
A fairy, song. 

VII. 

She found me roots of relish sweet, 
And honey wild, and manna dew ; 

And sure in language strange she said — 
"I love thee true." 

VIII. 

She took me to her elfin grot. 

And there she wept, and sighed full sore ; 
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 

With kisses four. 

IX. 

And there she lulled me asleep ; 

And there I dreamed — Ah ! woe b<^tide I 
The latest dream I ever dreamed 

On the cold hilVs side. 



I saw pale kings and princes too — 

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; 

They cried — '' La belle dame sans merci 
Hath thee in thrall ! " 



I saw their starved lips in the gloam. 
With horrid warning gaped wide : 

And I awoke and found me here. 
On the cold hilFs side. 

XII. 

And this is why I sojourn here. 

Alone and palely loitering, 
Though the sedge is withered from the 
lake. 
And no birds sing. 

John EJsATa 



KILMENY 



537 



KILMENY. 

Bonny Kilraeny gaed up the glen ; 
Bat it wasna to meet Duneira's men, 
N'or the rosy monk of the isie to see, 
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
It was only to hear the yorlin sing, 
And pu' the cress-flower round the spring — 
The scarlet hypp, and the hind berry, 
And the nut that hung frae the hazel tree ; 
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
But lang may her minny look o'er the wa\ 
And lang may she seek i' the green-wood 

shaw; 
Lang the laird of Duneira blame. 
And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come liame. 

When many a day had come and fled. 
When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, 
When mass for Kilmeny'g soul had been sung, 
When the bedes-man had prayed, and the 

dead-bell rung; 
Late, late in a gloamin, when all was still, 
When the fringe was red on the westlin hill, 
The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, 
The reek o' the cot hung over the plain — 
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; 
When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme. 
Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came 
hame! 

'' Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? 
Lang hae we sought both holt and den- 
By linn, by ford, and green-wood tree ; 
Yet you are halesome and fair to see. 
Where got you that joup o' the lily sheen? 
That bonny snood of the birk sae green? 
And these roses, the fixirest that ever was 

seen? 
Kilmeny, Kilmeny, Avhere have you been ? " 

Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, 
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face ; 
As still was her look, and as still was her ee. 
As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, 
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. 
For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, 
cViul Kilmeny had seen what she could not 
declare ; 



Kilmeny had been where the cock never 

crew, 
Where the rain never fell, and the wind nevei 

blew ; 
But it seemed as the harp of the sky had 

rung. 
And the airs of heaven played round he. 

tongue, 
When she spake of the lovely forms she had 

seen. 
And a land where sin had never been — 
A land of love, and a land of light. 
With on ten sun, or moon, or night ; 
Where the river swa'd a living stream. 
And the light a pure celestial beam : 
The land of vision it would seem, 
A still, an everlasting dream. 

In yon green- wood there is a walk, 
And in tha:': walk there is a wene. 

And in that wene there is a maike. 
That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane ; 
And down in yon green-wood he walks liia 

lane. 

In that green wene, Kilmeny lay. 
Her bosom happed wi' the flowerets gay ; 
But the air was soft, and the silence deep. 
And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep ; 
She kend nae mair, nor opened her ee. 
Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye. 

She 'wakened on a couch of the silk sae 
slim. 
All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim; 
And lovely beings around were rife. 
Who erst had travelled mortal life ; 
And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer : 
"What spirit has brouglit this mortal here ! " 

"Lang have I journeyed the world wide," 
A meek and reverend fere replied ; 
"Baith night and day I have watched the 

fair 
Eident a thousand years and mair. 
Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree, 
Wlierever blooms femcnitye ; 
But sinless virgin, free of stain, 
In mind and body, fand I nane. 
Never, since the banquet of time, 
Found I a virgin in her prime. 



588 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



rill late this bonny maiden I saw, 

A.S spotless as the morning snaw. 

Full twenty years she has lived as free 

As the spirits that sojourn in this country e. 

[ have brought her away frae the snares of 

men, 
That sin rr death she may never ken." 

They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair; 
They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her 

hair; 
And round came many a blooming fere, 
Saying, ''Bonny Kilmeny, ye're welcome here; 
Women are freed of the littand scorn ; 
Ob, blest be the day Kilmeny w^as born ! 
N"ow shall the land of the spirits see, 
Now shall it ken, what a woman may be ! 
Many a laiig year in sorrow and pain, 
Many a lang year through the world we 've 

gane, 
Commissioned to watch fair womankind, 
For it 's they who nurice the immortal mind. 
We have watched their steps as the dawning 

shone. 
And deep in the green- wood walks alone ; 
By lily bower and silken bed 
The viewless tears have o'er them shed ; 
Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep. 
Or left the couch of love to weep. 
We have seen! we have seen! but the time 

must come, 
And the angels will w^eep at the day of doom ! 

"Oh, would the fairest of mortal kind 
Aye keep the holy truths in mind. 
That kindred spirits their motions see. 
Who watch their ways with anxious ee. 
And grieve for the guilt of humanitye ! 
Ob, sweet to heaven the maiden's prayer, 
And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair ! 
And dear to heaven the words of truth 
And the praise of virtue frae beauty's mouth ! 
And dear to the viewless forms of air, 
The minds that kythe as the body fair ! 

"0, bonny Kilmeny! free frae stain, 
If ever you seek the world again — 
That world of sin, of sorrow and fear — 
Oh, tell of the joys that are waiting here ; 
And tell of the signs you shall shortly see; 
Of the times that are now, and the times that 
shall be."— 



They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, 
And she walked in the light of a sunless day 
The sky was a dome of crystal bright. 
The fountain of vision, and fountain of light ; 
The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, 
And the flow^ers of everlasting blow. 
Then deep in the stream her body they laid. 
That her youth and beauty never might fade ; 
And they smiled on heaven, when they saw 

her lie 
In the stream of life that wandered by. 
And she heard a song — she heard it sung. 
She kend not where ; but sae sweetly it rung. 
It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn- 
"Oh! blest be the day Kilmeny was born! 
Now shall the land of the spirits see, 
Now shall it ken, what a woman may be I 
The sun that shines on the world sae bright, 
A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light ; 
And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun. 
Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun — 
Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair ; 
And the angels shall miss them, travelling 

the air. 
But lang, lang after baith night and day. 
When the sun and the world have dyed 

away, 
When the sinner has gane to his waesome 

doom, 
Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom ! "-- 

They bore her away, she wist not how. 
For she felt not arm nor rest below ; 
But so swift they wained her through the 

light, 
'T was like the motion of sound or sight; 
They seemed to split the gales of air. 
And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. 
Unnumbered groves below them grew ; 
They came, they past, and backward flew. 
Like floods of blossoms gliding on, 
In moment seen, in moment gone. 
Oh, never vales to mortal view 
Appeared like those o'er which they flew 
That land to human spirits given. 
The lowermost vales of the storied heaven ; 
From whence they can view the world below. 
And heaven's blue gates with sapphires 

glow — 
More glory yet unmeet to know\ 



KILMENY. 



They bore her far to a mountain green, 
To see what mortal never had seen ; 
And they seated her high on a purple sward, 
And bade her heed what she saw and heard, 
And note the changes the spirits wrought ; 
For now she lived in the land of thought. — 
She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies, 
But a crystal dome of a thousand dies ; 
She looked, and she saw nae land aright, 
But an endless whirl of glory and light ; 
And radiant beings went and came. 
Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame ; 
She hid her een frae the dazzling view; 
She looked again, and the scene was new. 

She saw a sun on a summer sky. 
And clouds of amber sailing by ; 
A lovely land beneath her lay, 
And that land had glens and mountains gray; 
And that land had valleys and hoary piles, 
And marled seas, and a thousand isles ; 
Its fields were speckled, its forests green. 
And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen. 
Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay 
The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray, 
Which heaved and trembled, and gently 

swung ; 
On every shore they seemed to be hung ; 
For there they were seen on their downward 

plain 
A thousand times and a thousand again ; 
In winding lake and placid firth — 
Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of 

earth. 

Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve, 
For she found her heart to that land did 

cleave ; 
She saw the corn wave on the vale ; 
She saw the deer run down the dale ; 
She saw the plaid and the broad claymore. 
And the brows that the badge of freedom 

bore ; 
•md she thought she had seen the land be- 
fore. 

She saw a lady sit on a throne, 
The fairest that ever the sun shone on ! 
A lion licked her hand of milk, 
Ajid she held him in a leish of silk, 



And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee, 
With a silver wand and melting ee — 
Her sovereign shield, till love stole in, 
And poisoned all the fount within. 

Then a gruff, untoward bedes-man came, 
And hundit the lion on his dame ; 
And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless ee, 
She dropped a tear, and left her knee ; 
And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled, 
Till the bonniest flower of the world lay 

dead; 
A coffin was set on a distant plain. 
And she saw the red blood fall like rain. 
Then bonny Kilmeny's heart grew sair, 
And she turned away, and could look nae 



Then the gruff, grim carle girned amain. 
And they trampled him down — but he rose 

again ; 
And he baited the lion to deeds of weir, 
Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom 

dear; 
And, weening his head was danger-preef 
When crowned with the rose and clover lea^ 
He growled at the carle, and chased him 

away 
To feed wi' the deer on the mountain gray. 
He growled at the carle, and he gecked at 

heaven ; 
But his mark was set, and his arles given - 
Kilmeny a while her een Avithdrew ; 
She looked again, and the scene was new. 

She saw below her, fair unfurled. 
One half of all the glowing world, 
Where oceans rolled and rivers ran, 
To bound the aims of sinful man. 
She saw a people fierce and fell. 
Burst frae their bounds like fiends of hell ; 
There lilies grew, and the eagle flew ; 
And she herked on her ravening crew. 
Till the cities and towers were wrapt in a 

blaze. 
And the thunder it roared o'er the lands and 

the seas. 
The widows they wailed, and the red blood 

ran, 
And she threatened an end to the race ot 

man. 



540 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATIOX. 



She never lened, nor stood in awe. 
Till cauglit by the lion's deadly paw. 
Oh ! then the eagle swinked for life, 
And brainzelled up a mortal strife ; 
But flew she north, or flew she south, 
She met wi' the growl of the lion's mouth. 

With a mooted wing and waefu' maen. 
The eagle sought her eiry again ; 
But lang may she cower in her bloody nest, 
And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast. 
Before she sey another flight. 
To play wi' the norland lion's might. 

But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw. 
So far surpassing nature's law, 
The singer's voice wad sink away, 
And the string of his harp wad cease to play. 
But she saw tiU the sorrows of man were by, 
And all was love and harmony ; 
Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away, 
Like the flakes of snaw on a winter's day. 

Then Kilmeny begged again to see 
The friends she had left in her own countrye, 
To tell of the place where she had been. 
And the glories that lay in the land unseen ; 
To warn the living maidens fair. 
The loved of heaven, the spirits' care. 
That all whose minds unmeled remain 
Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane. 

With distant music, soft and deep. 
They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep; 
And when she awakened, she lay her lane, 
All happed with flowers in the green-wood 

wene. 
When seven long years had come and fled ; 
When grief was calm, and hope was dead ; 
When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's 

name. 
Late, late in a gloamin, Kilmeny came hame ! 
And oh, her beauty was fair to see, 
But still and steadfast was her ee ! 
Such beauty bard may never declare, 
For there was no pride nor passion there ; 
And the soft desire of maidens' een, 
In that mild face could never be seen. 
Her seymar was the lily flower. 
And lier cheek the moss-rose in :he shower • 



And her voice like the distant melodye 
That floats along the twilight sea. 
But she loved to raike the lanely glen, 
And keeped afar frae the haunts of men ; 
Her holy hymns unheard to sing, 
To suck the flowers and drink the spring. 
But wherever her peaceful form appeared, 
The wild beasts of the hills -were cheered ; 
The wolf played blythely round the field, 
The lordly byson lowed and kneeled ; 
The dun deer wooed with manner bland. 
And cowered aneath her lily hand. 
And when at even the woodlands rung, 

j When hymns of other worlds she sung 

I In ecstasy of sweet devotion, 
Oh, then the glen was all in motion ! 
The wild beasts of the forest came. 
Broke from their bughts and faulds the tamO; 
And goved around, charmed and amazed ; 
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed. 
And murmured and looked with anxious paia. 
For something the mystery to explain. 
The buzzard came with the throstle-cock. 
The corby left her houf in the rock ; 
The black-bird alang wi' the eagle flew ; 
The hind came tripping o'er the dew ; 
The wolf and the kid their raike began ; 
And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret 

ran; 
The hawk and the hern attour them hung, 
And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their 

young; 
And all in a peaceful ring were hurled : 
It was like an eve in a sinless world ! 



When a month and day had come and 

gane, 
Kilmeny sought the green- wood wene ; 
There laid her down on the leaves sae green. 
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. 
But oh, the words that fell from her mouth, 
Were words of wonder, and words of truth \ 
But all the land were in fear and dread, 
For they kend na whether she was living or 

dead. 
It wasna her hame, and she couldna re 

main ; 
She left this world of sorrow and pain, 
And returned to the land of thought again. 

AMES HoOCk 



THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW. 



541 



CHE FAIRIES OF THE OALDON" LOW. 

A At.>SUMMEE LEGEND 

"And where have you been, my Mary, 
And where have you been from me ? " 

*' I 've been to the top of the Oaldon Low, 
The midsummer-night to see ! " 

" And what did you see, my Mary, 

All up on the Caldon Low ? " 
''I saw the glad sunshine come down, 

And I saw the merry winds blow." 

" And what did you hear, my Mary, 

All up on the Caldon hill? " 
"I heard the drops of the water made, 

And the ears of the green corn fill." 

'^ Oh ! tell me all, my Mary — 

All, all that ever you know ; 
For you must have seen the fairies. 

Last night on the Caldon Low." 

*'Then take me on your knee, mother ; 

And listen, mother of mine : 
A hundred fairies danced last night. 

And the harpers they were nine ; 

" And their harp-strings rung so merrily 
To their dancing feet so small ; 

But oh ! the words of their talking 
Were merrier far than all." 

" And what were the words, my Mary, 
That then you heard them say ? " 

'' I '11 tell you all, my mother ; 
But let me have my way. 

'* home of them played with the water. 
And rolled it down the hill ; 
And this,' they said, ' shall speedily turn 
The poor old miller's jiill ; 

** ' For there has been no water 

Ever since the first of M.iy ; 
And a busy man will the miller be 

At dawning of the day. 



" 'Oh! the miller, how he will laugh 
When he sees the mill-dam rise ! 

The jolly old miller, how he will laugh 
Till the tears fill both his eyes ! ' 

" And some they seized the little winds 

That sounded over the hill ; 
And each put a horn unto his mouth. 

And blew both loud and shrill; 

" ' And there,' they said, ' the merry winds 
go 

Away from every horn ; 
And they shall clear the mildew dank 

From the blind, old widow's corn. 

'' ' Oh ! the poor, blind widow. 
Though she has been blind so long. 

She '11 be blithe enough when the mildew ^s 
gone, 
And the corn stands tall and strong.' 

'•x\nd some they brought the brown lint- 
seed. 

And flung it down from the Low ; 
^ And this,' they said, 'by the sunrise, 

In the weaver's croft shall grow. 

" ' Oh ! the poor, lame weaver. 

How will he laugh outright 
When he sees his dwindling flax-fi( Id 

All full of flowers by night ! ' 

" And then outspoke a brownie. 
With a long beard on his chin ; 

'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 
' And I want some more to spin. 

" ' I 've spun a piece of hempen clotli, 

And I Avant to spin another ; 
A little sheet for Mary's bed, 

And an apron for her mother. 

''With that I could not help but laugh, 
And I laughed out loud and free ; 

And then on the top of the Caldon Low 
There was no one left but me. 

"And all on the top of the Caldon Low 
The mists were cold and gray. 

And nothing I saw but the mossy stones 
That round about me lay. 



542 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



"But, coming down from the hill-top, 

I heard afar below, 
How busy the jolly miller was, 

And how the wheel did go. 

" And I peeped into the widow's field, 
And, sure enough, were seen 

The yellow ears of the mildewed corn, 
All standing stout and green. 

^' And down by the weaver's croft I stole, 
To see if the flax were sprung ; 

And I met the weaver at his gate. 
With the good news on his tongue. 

^' N"ow this is all I heard, mother, 

And all that I did see ; 
So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother. 

For I 'm tired as I can be." 

Mary Howitt. 



Oil! WHERE DO FAIEIES HIDE THEIR 
HEADS ? 

Oh ! where do fairies hide their heads, 

When snow lies on the hills — 
When frost has spoiled their mossy beds, 

And crystallized their rills ? 
Beneath the moon they cannot trip 

In circles o'er the plain ; 
And draughts of dew they cannot sip, 

Till green leaves come again. 

Perhaps, in small, Dlue diving-bells. 

They plunge beneath the waves. 
Inhabiting the wreathed shells 

That lie in coral caves. 
Perhaps, in red Vesuvius, 

Carousals they maintain ; 
And cheer their little spirits thus. 

Till green leaves come again. 

When they return there will be mirth. 

And music in the air. 
And fairy wings upon the earth, 

And mischief every where. 
The maids, to keep the elves aloof, 

Will bar the doors in vain : 
Xo key-hole will be fairy-proof. 

When green leaves come again. 

Thomas IIaynes Bayly. 



THE CULPRIT FAY. 

"My visual orbs are purged from film, r.nd, lo ! 

Instead of Anster's turnip-bearing vales, 
I see old fairy land's miraculous sliow 1 

Her trees of tinsel kissed by freakish gales, 
Her ouphs that, cloaked in leaf-gold, skim the brtczo, 

And fairies, swarming ." 

Tenn ant's Ansteb Fair. 



'T IS the middle watch of a summer's night— 
The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright ; 
i^aught is seen in the vault on high 
But the moon, and the stars, and the cloud 

less sky, 
And the flood which rolls its milky hue. 
A river of light on the welkin blue. 
The moon looks down on old Cronest ; 
She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast 
And seems his huge gr^ay form to throw 
In a silver cone on the wave below ; 
His sides are broken by spots of shade. 
By the walnut bough and the cedar made, 
And through their clustering branches dark 
Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark — 
Like starry twinkles that momently break 
Through the rifts of the gathering tempcGt't 

rack. 

II. 

The stars are on the moving stream. 

And fling, as its ripples gently flow, 
A burnished length of wavy beam 

In an eel-like, spiral line below ; 
The winds are whist, and the owl is still ; 

The bat in the shelvy rock is hid ; 
And nought is heard on the lonely hill 
But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill 

Of the gauze-winged katy-did ; 
And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor- wiL, 

Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, 
Ever a note of wail and woe. 

Till morning spreads her rosy wings, 
And earth and sky in her glances glow. 



'T is the hour of fairy ban and spell : 
The wood-tick has kept the minutes well ; 
He has counted them all with click and stroke 
Deep in the heart of the mountain-oak, 
And he has awakened the sentry elve 
Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree 



THE CULPRIT FAY. 



543 



To bid him ring the hour of twelve, 
And call the fays to their revelry ; 
Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell — 
('Twas made of the Avhite snail's pearly 

shell—) 
*' Midnight comes, and all is well ! 
Hither, hither, wing your way ! 
'T is the dawn of the fairy-day." 



They come from beds of lichen green, 
They creep from the mullen's velvet screen ; 

Some on the backs of beetles fly 
From the silver tops of moon-touched trees. 

Where they swung in their cobweb ham- 
mocks high, 
And rocked about in the evening breeze ; 

Some from the hum-bird's downy nest — 
They had driven him out by elfin power. 

And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow 
breast, 
Had Slumbered there till the charmed hour ; 

Some had lain in the scoop of the rock. 
With glittering ising-stars inlaid ; 

And some had opened the four-o'clock, 
A ad stole within its purple shade. 

And now they throng the moonlight glade. 
Above — below — on every side. 

Their little minim forms arrayed 
In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride ! 

V. 

They come not now to print the lea. 

In freak and dance around the tree. 

Or at the mushroom board to sup. 

And drink the dew from the buttercup ; — 

A scene of sorrow waits them now. 

For an ouphe has broken his vestal vow ; 

He has loved an earthly maid, 

And left for her his woodland shade ; 

He has lain upon her lip of dew. 

And sunned him in her eye of blue. 

Fanned her cheek with his wing of air. 

Played in the ringlets of her hair. 

And, nestling on her snowy breast, 

Forgot the lily-king's behest. 

For this the shadowy tribes of air 

To the elfin court must haste away :— 
And now the}' stand expectant there, 

To hear the doom of the culprit fay. 



VI. 

The throne was reared upon the grass, 
Of spice-wood and of sassafras ; 
On pillars of mottled tortoise-shell 

Hung the burnished canopy — 
And o'er it gorgeous curtains fell 

Of the tulip's crimson drapery. 
The monarch sat on his judgment-seat, 

On his brow the crown imperial shone, 
The prisoner fay was at his feet, 

And his peers were ranged around th*i 
throne. 
He waved his sceptre in the air, 

He looked around and calmly spoke ; 
His brow was grave and his eye severe. 

But his voice in a softened accent broke • 



'' Fairy ! fairy ! list and mark : 

Thou hast broke thine elfin chain ; 
Thy flame -wood lamp is quenched and 
dark. 

And thy wings are dyed Avith a deadly 
stain — 
Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity 

In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye ; 
Thou hast scorned our dread decree. 

And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high. 
But well I know her sinless mind 

Is pure as the angel forms above. 
Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind, 

Such as a spirit well might love ; 
Fairy! had she spot or taint, 
Bitter had been thy punishment : 
Tied to the hornet's shardy wings ; 
Tossed on the pricks of nettles' stings ; 
Or seven long ages doomed to dwell 
With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell ; 
Or every night to writhe and bleed 
Beneath the tread of the centipede ; 
Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim, 
Your jailer a spider, huge and grim. 
Amid the carrion bodies to lie 
Of the worm, and the bug, and the murderet' 

fly: 

These it had beon your lot to bear, 
Had a stain been found on the earthly fair. 
Now list, and mark our mild decree — 
Fairy, this vour doom must be : 



|>4^ 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



YIII. 

" Thou slialt seek the beach of sand 
"Where the water bounds the elfin land ; 
Thou shalt watch the oozy brine 
Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moon- 
shine, 
Then dart the glistening arch below, 
And catch a drop from his silver bow. 
The water-sprites will wield their arms 

And dash around, with roar and rave, 
And vain are the woodland spirits' charms ; 

They are the imps that rule the wave. 
Yet trust thee in thy single might : 
If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, 
Thou shalt wan the warlock fight. 

IX. 

" If the spray-bead gem be won. 
The stain of thy wing is washed away ; 

But another errand must be done 
Ere thy crime be lost for aye : 

Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark. 

Thou must reillume its spark. 

Mount thy steed and spur him high 

To the heaven's blue canopy ; 

And wlien thou seest a shooting star, 

Follow it fast, and follow it far — 

The last faint spark of its burning train 

Shall light the elfin lamp again. 

Thou hast heard our sentence, fay ; 

Hence ! to the water-side, away ! " 



The goblin marked his monarch well , 

He spake not, but he bowed him low, 
1 hen plucked a crimson colen-bell, 

And turned him round in act to go. 
The way is long, he cannot fly. 

His soiled wing has lost its jDOwer, 
And he winds adown the mountain high, 

For many a sore and weary hour. 
Through dreary beds of tangled fern. 
Through groves of nightshade dark and dern. 
Over the grass and through the brake. 
Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake ; 

Now o'er the violet's azure flush 
He skips along in lightsome mood ; 

And now he thrids the bramble-bush, 
Till its points are dyed in fairy blood. 



lie lias leaped the bog, he has pierced the 

brier, 
He has swum the brook, and waded the mire 
Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak, 
And the red waxed fainter in his cheek. 
He had fallen to the ground outright. 

For rugged and dim was his onward track, 
But there came a spotted toad in sight, 

And he laughed as he jumped upon her 
back; 
He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist, 

He lashed her sides with an osier thong ; 
And now, through evening's dewy mist, 

With leap and spring they bound along, 
Till the mountain's magic verge is past, 
And the beach of sand is reached at last. 



Soft and pale is the moony beam. 
Moveless still the glassy stream ; 
The wave is clear, the beach is bright 

With snowy shells and sparkling stones ; 
The shore-surge comes in ripples light, 

In murmurings faint and distant moans : 
And ever afar in the silence deep 
Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap, 
And the bend of his graceful bow is seen— 
A glittering arch of silver sheen. 
Spanning the wave of burnished blue. 
And dripping with gems of the river-dew. 



The elfin cast a glance around. 

As he lighted down from his courser toad , 
Then round his breast his wings he wound, 

And close to the river's brink he strode ; 
He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, 

Above his head his arms he threw. 
Then tossed a tiny curve in air, 

And headlong plunged in the waters blue. 



Up sprung the spirits of the waves. 
From the sea-silk beds in their coral caves ; 
With snail-plate armor snatched in haste, 
They speed their way through the liquid 

waste ; 
Some are rapidly borne along 
On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong ; 



THE CULPRIT FAY. 



545 



Some on the blood-red leeches glide 
Some on the stony star-fish ride, 
Some on the back of the lancing squab, 
Some on the sideling soldier- crab ; 
And some on the jellied quarl, that flings 
At once a thousand streamy stings ; 
They cut the wave with the living oar. 
And hurry on to the moonlight shore, 
To guard their realms and chase away 
The footsteps of the invading fay. 

XIV. 

Fearlessly he skims along, 
His hope is high, and his limbs are strong; 
He spreads his arms like the swallow's wing. 
And throws his feet with a frog-like fling ; 
His locks of gold on the waters shine, 

At his breast the tiny fo^n-bees rise. 
His back gleams bright above the brine. 

And the wake-line foam behind him lies. 
But the water-sprites are gathering near 

To check his course along the tide ; 
Their warriors come in swift career 

And hem him round on every side ; 
On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold. 
The quarl's long arms are round him rolled. 
The prickly prong has pierced his skin, 
And the squab has thrown his javelin ; 
The gritty star has rubbed him raw, 
And the' crab has struck with his giant claw ; 
He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain; 
He strikes around, but his blows are vain ; 
Hopeless is the unequal fight. 
Fairy ! naught is left but flight. 



Fie turned him round, and fled amain 
With hurry and dash to the beach again ; 
He twisted over from side to side, 
And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide ; 
The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, 
And with all his might he flings his feet, 
But the water-sprites are round him still, 
To cross his path and work him ill. 
They bade the wave before him rise ; 
They flung the sea-fire in his eyes ; 
And they stunned his ears with the scallop- 
stroke, 
With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish 

croak 

^^3 



Oh! but aweary wight was he 

When he reached the foot of the dogwood 
tree. 

— Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore, 

H^ laid him down on the sandy shore ; 

He blessed the force of the charmed line, 
And he banned the water-goblin's spite. 

For he saw around in the sweet moonshine 

Their little wee faces above the brine. 

Giggling and laughing with all their might 
At the piteous hap of the fairy wight. 

XVI. 

Soon he gathered the balsam dew 
From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane bud ; 

Over each wound the balm he drew. 
And with cobweb lint he stanched the 
blood. 

The mild west wind was soft and low, 

It cooled the heat of his burning brow ; 

And he felt new life in his sinews shoot, 

As he drank the juice of the calamus root ; 

And now he treads the fatal shore. 

As fresh and vigorous as before. 

XVII. 

Wrapped in musing stands the sprite : 
'T is the middle wane of night ; 

His task is hard, his way is far, 
But he must do his errand right 

Ere dawning mounts her beamy car, 
And rolls her chariot wheels of light ; 
And vain are the spells of fairy-land — 
He must work with a human hand. 

XVIII. 

He cast a saddened look around ; 

But he felt new joy his bosom swell, 
When, glittering on the shadowed ground, 

He saw a purple muscle-shell ; 
Thither he ran, and he bent him low. 
He heaved at the stern and he heaved at the 

bow. 
And he pushed her over the yielding sand, 
Till he came to the verge of the haunted land. 
She was as lovely a pleasure-boat 

As ever fairy had paddled in, 
For she glowed with purple paint without, 

And shone with silvery pearl within : 



346 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



A sculler's notch in the stern he made, 
An oar he shaped of the hootle blade ; 
Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap^ 
And launched afar on the calm, blue deep. 

XIX. 

The imps of the river yell and rave ; 
They had no power above the wave ; 
But they heaved the billow before the prow, 

And they dashed the surge against her side, 
And they struck her keel with jerk and blow, 

Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide. 
She whimpled about to the pale moonbeam, 
Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed 

stream ; 
And momently athwart her track 
The quarl upr eared his island back, 
And the fluttering scallop behind would float. 
And patter the water about the boat ; 
But he bailed her out with his colen-bell. 

And he kept her trimmed with a Avary 
tread. 
While on every side like lightning fell 

The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade. 

XX. 

Onward still he held his way, 

Till he came where the column of moonshine 

lay, 
And saw beneath the surface dim 
The brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim ; 
Around him were the goblin train — 
But he sculled with all his might and main, 
And followed wherever the sturgeon led, 
Till he saw him upward point his head ; 
Then he dropped his paddle-blade, 
And held his colen-goblet up 
To catch the drop in its crimson cup. 

XXI, 

With sweeping tail and quivering fin 

Through the wave the sturgeon flew, 
And, like the heaven-shot javelin. 

He sprung above the waters blue. 
Instant as the star-fall light, 

He plunged him in the deep again, 
But he left an arch of silver bright, 

The rainbow of the moony main. 
It was a strange and lovely sight 

To &eQ the puny goblin there ; 



He seemed an angel form of light, 
With azure wing and sunny hair, 
Throned on a cloud of purple fair, 

Circled with blue and edged with wniie, 

And sitting at the fall of even 

Beneath the bow of summer heaven. 

XXII. 

A moment, and its lustre fell ; 

But ere it met the billow blue, 
He caught within his crimson bell 

A droplet of its sparkling dew — 
Joy to thee, fay ! thy task is done, 
Thy wings are pure, for the gem is woe- 
Cheerly ply thy dripping oar. 
And haste away to the elfin shore. 

xxin. 
He turns, and, lo*! on either side 
The ripples on his path divide ; 
And the track o'er w^hich his boat must pass 
Is smooth as a sheet of pohshed glass. 
Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave, 

With snowy arms half-swelling out, 
While on the glossed and gleamy wave 

Their sea-green ringlets loosely float; 
They swim around with smile and song; 

They press the bark with pearly hand, 
And gently urge her course along. 

Toward the beach of speckled sand ; 

And, as he lightly leaped to land. 
They bade adieu with nod and bow ; 
. Then gayly kissed each little hand, 
And dropped in the crystal deep below. 



A moment stayed the fairy there ; 

He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer ; 

Then spread his wings of gilded blue, 

And on to the elfin court he flew ; 

As ever ye saw a babble rise. 

And shine with a thousand changing dyes, 

Till, lessening far, through ether driven. 

It mingles with the hues of heaven ; 

As, at the glimpse of morning pale. 

The lance-fly spreads his silken sail, 

And gleams with blendings soft and bright. 

Till lost in the shades of fading night : 

So rose from earth the lovely fiiy — 

So vanished, far in heaven away I 



THE CULPRIT FAY. 



547 



Up, fiiiry ! quit thy chick-weed bower, 
The cricket has called the second hour ; 
Twice again, and the lark will rise 
To kiss the streaking of the skies — 
Up ! thy charmed armor don, 
Thou 'It need it ere the night be gone. 

XXV. 

He put his acorn helmet on ; 

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down; 

The corslet plate that guarded his breast 

Was once the wild bee's golden vest ; 

His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes, 

Was formed of the wings of butterflies ; 

His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, 

Btuds of gold on a ground of green ; 

And the quivering lance which he brandished 

bright, 
Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. 
Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed ; 

He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue ; 
He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed, 

And away like a glance of thought he flew, 
To skim the heavens, and follow far 
The fiery trail of the rocket-star. 



The moth-fly, as he shot in air. 

Crept under the leaf, and hid her there ; 

The katy-did forgot its lay, 

The prowling gnat fled fast away. 

The fell mosquito checked his drone 

And folded his wings till the fay was gone. 

And the wily beetle dropped his head. 

And fell on the ground as if he were dead ; 

They crouched them close in the darksome 

shade, 
They quaked all o'er with awe and fear, 
For they had felt the blue-bent blade, 

Ai-d writhed at tlie prick of the elfin spear; 
Many a time, on a summer's night. 
When the sky was clear, and the moon was 

bright, 
They had been roused from the haunted 

ground 
3y the yelp and bay of the fairy hound ; 

They had heard the tiny bugle-horn. 
They had heard the twang of the maize-silk 

string. 
When the vine-twig bows were tightly 

drawn, 



And the needle-shaft through air was 
borne. 
Feathered with down of the hum-bird's 

wing. 
And now they deemed the courier ouphe. 

Some hunter-sprite of the elfin ground ; , 
And they watched till they saw him mount 
thfe roof 
That canopies the world around ; 
Then glad they left their covert lair. 
And freaked about in the midnight dr. 

XXVII. 

Up to the vaulted firmament 

His path the fire-fly courser bent, 

And at every gallop on the wind. 

He flung a glittering spark behind ; 

He flies like a feather in the blast 

Till the first light cloud in heaven is past. 

But the shapes of air have begun their 
work, 
And a drizzly mist is round him cast ; 

He cannot see through the mantle murJi ; 
He shivers with cold, but he urges fast ; 

Through storm and darkness, sleet and 
shade. 
He lashes his steed, and spurs amain — 
For shadowy hands have twitched the rein, 

And flarne-shot tongues around him played, 
And near him many a fiendish eye 
Glared with a fell malignity. 
And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear, 
Came screaming on his startled ear. 



His wings are wet around his breast. 
The plume hangs dripping from his crest, 
His eyes are blurred with the lightning's 

glare. 
And his ears are stunned with the thnnderV 

blare • 
But he gave a shout, and his blade he drevr, 

He thrust before and he struck behind, 
Till he pierced their cloudy bodies tlirough. 

And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind; 
Howling the misty spectres flew, 

They rend the air wiih frightful cries; 
For he has gained the welkin blue. 

And the land of clouds beneath him lies 



>4» 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



XXIX. 

Up to the cope careering swift, 

In breathless motion fast, 
Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift, 

Or the sea-roc rides the blast, 
The sapphire sheet of eve is shot. 

The sphered moon is past. 
The earth but seems a tiny blot 

On a sheet of azure cast. 
Oh! it was sweet, in the clear moonlight, 

To tread the starry plain of even ! 
To meet the thousand eyes of night. 

And feel the cooling breath of heaven ! 
But the elfin made no stop or stay 
Till he came to the bank of the milky-way ; 
Then he checked his courser's foot, 
And watched for the glimpse of the planet- 
shoot. 

XXX. 

Sudden along the snowy tide 

That swelled to meet their footsteps' fall. 
The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide. 

Attired in sunset's crimson pall ; 
Around the fay they weave the dance. 

They skip before him on the plain, 
And one has taken his wasp-sting lance, 

And one upholds his bridle-rein ; 
With warblings wild they lead him on 

To where, through clouds of amber seen, 
Studded with stars, resplendent shone 

The palace of the sylphid queen. 
Its spiral columns, gleaming bright. 
Were streamers of the northern light ; 
Its curtain's light and lovely flush 
Was of the morning's rosy blush ; 
And the ceiling fair that rose aboon. 
The white and feathery fleece of noon. 

XXXI. 

But, oh ! how fair the shape that lay 

Beneath a rainbow bending bright : 
She seemed to the entranced fay 

The loveliest of the forms of light ; 
Her mantle was the purple rolled 

At twilight in the west afar ; 
T was tied with threads of dawning gold, 

And buttoned with a sparkling star. 
Her face was like the lily roon 

That veils the vestal planet's hue; 
Her eyes, two beamlets from the moon, 

Set floating in the welkin blue. 



Her hair is like the sunny beam, 

And the diamond gems which round it gleaic 

Are the pure drops of dewy even 

That ne'er have left their native heaven. 

XXXII. 

She raised her eyes to the wondering sprite^ 

And they leaped with smiles; for well I 
ween 
^tTever before in the bowers of light 

Had the form of an earthly fay been seen. 
Long she looked in his tiny face ; 

Long with his butterfly cloak she played ; . 
She smoothed his wrings of azure lace, 

And handled the tassel of his blade ; 
And as he told, in accents low, 
The story of his love and woe. 
She felt new pains in her bosom rise, 
And the tear-drop started in her eyes. 
And " 0, sweet spirit of earth," she cried, 

" Eeturn no more to your woodland height 
But ever here with me abide 

In the land of everlasting light ! 
Within the fleecy drift we '11 lie. 

We '11 hang upon the rainbow's rim ; 
And all the jewels of the sky 

Around thy brow shall brightly beam ! 
And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream 

That rolls its whitening foam aboon. 
And ride upon the lightning's gleam, 

And dance upon the orbed moon I 
We '11 sit within the Pleiad ring. 

We '11 rest on Orion's starry belt, 
And I will bid my sylphs to sing 

The song that makes the dew-mist melt ; 
Their harps are of the umber shade 

That hides the blush of waking day. 
And every gleamy string is made 

Of silvery moonshine's lengthened ray ; 
And thou shalt pillow on my breast, 

While heavenly breathings float aroQud, 
And, with the sylphs of ether blest, 

Forget the joys of fairy ground." 

XXXIII. 

She was lovely and fair to see 
And the elfin's heart beat fitfully ; 
But lovelier far, and still more fair, 
The earthly form imprinted there ; 
IsTaught he saw in the heavens above 
Was half so dear as his mortal love^ 



^ 



THE CULPRIT FAY. 



54S 



For be thought upon her looks so meek, 
And he thought of the light flush on her 

cheek ; 
Never again might he bask and lie 
On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye ; 
But in his dreams her form to see, 
To clasp her in bis revery. 
To think upon bis virgin bride, 
Wsis worth all heaven, and earth beside. 



"Lady," he cried, ''I have sworn to-night:. 

On the word of a fairy-knight, 

To do my sentence-task aright ; 

My honor scarce is free from stain — 

I may not soil its snows again ; 

Betide me weal, betide me woe, 

Its mandate must be answered now." 

Her bosom heaved with many a sigh, 

The tear was in her drooping eye ; 

But she led him to the palace gate, 

And called the sylphs who hovered there. 
And bade them fly and bring him straight, 

Of clouds condensed, a sable car. 
With charm and spell she blessed it there, 
From all the fiends of upper air ; 
Then round him cast the shadowy shroud, 
And tied his steed behind the cloud ; 
And pressed his hand as she bade him fly 
Far to the verge of the northern sky, 
For by its wane and wavering light 
There was a star would fall to-nicrht. 



Borne afar on the wings of the blast. 
Northward away, he speeds him fast. 
And his courser follows the cloudy wain 
Till the hoof-strokes fall like pattering rain. 
The clouds roll backward as he flies, 
Each flickering star behind him lies. 
And he has reached the northern plain, 
And backed his fire-fly steed again, 
Ready to follow in its flight 
The streaming of the rocket-light. 



The star is yet in the vault of heaven. 
But it rocks in the summer gale ; 

And now 't is fitful and uneven. 
And now 't is deadly pale ; 



And now 't is wrapped in sulphur-smoke, 

And quenched is its rayless beam ; 
And now with a rattling thunder-strcke 

It bursts in flash and flame. 
As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance 

That the storm-spirit flings from high, 
The star-shot flew o'er the welkin blue. 

As it fell from the sheeted sky. 
As swift as the wind in its train behind i 

The elfin gallops along : 
The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud, 

But the sylphid charm is strong ; 
He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire. 

While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze ; 
He watches each flake till its sparks expire, 

And rides in the light of its rays. 
But he drove his steed to the lightning'^ 
speed. 

And caught a glimmering spark ; 
Then wheeled around to the fairy ground, 

And sped through the midnight dark. 



Ouphe and goblin ! imp and sprite ! 

Elf of eve ! and starry fay ! 
Ye that love the moon's soft light. 

Hither — hither wend your Avay : 
Twine ye in a jocund ring, 

Sing and trip it merrily. 
Hand to hand, and wing to wing. 

Round the wild witch-hazel tree. 



Hail the wanderer again 

With dance and song, and lute and lyre; 
Pure his wing and strong his chain, 

And doubly bright his fairy flre. 
Twine ye in an airy round. 

Brush the dew and print the lea ; 
Skip and gambol, hop and bound, 

Round the wild witch-hazel tree. 



The beetle guards our holy ground. 

He flies about the haunted place, 
And if mortal there be found. 

He hums in his cars and flaps his face ; 
Tlie leaf-harp sounds our roundelay. 

The owlet's eyes our lanterns be ; 
Thus we sing, and dance, and play. 

Round the wild witch-hazel tree. 



)50 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION 



Pat, hark ! from tower on tree-top higli. 

The sentry-elf his oall has made ; 
A streak is in the eastern sky, 

Shapes of moonlight ! flit and fade ! 
The hill-tops gleam in morning's spring, 
The sky-lark shakes his dappled wing, 
Tlie day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn, 
^'Uq cock has crowed, and the fays are gone. 
Joseph Eodman Drake. 



THE FAIRIES. 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen. 
We dare n't go a hunting 

For fear of little men ; 
Wee folk, good folk. 

Trooping all together ; 
Green jacket, red cap. 

And white owl's feather ! 

Down along the rocky shore 

Some make their home — 
They live on crispy pancakes 

Of yellow tide-foam ; 
Some in the reeds 

Of the black mountain -lake. 
With frogs for their watch-dogs. 

All night awake. 

High on the hill-top 

The old king sits ; 
He is now so old and gray 

He 's nigh lost his wits. 
With a bridge of white mist 

Columbkill he crosses. 
On his stately journeys 

From Slieveleague to Rosses ; 
Or going up with music 

On cold, starry nights, 
To sup with the queen 

Of the gay Northern Lights. 

They stole little Bridget 

For seven years long ; 
When she came down again 

Her friends were all gone. 



They took her lightly back, 

Between the night and morrow ; 
They thought that she was fast asleei) 

But she was dead with sorrov . 
They have kept her ever since 

Deep within the lakes, 
On a bed of flag- leaves. 

Watching till she wakes. 

By the craggy hill-side. 

Through the mosses bare. 
They have planted thorn-trees 

For pleasure here and there 
Is any man so daring 

To dig one up in spite. 
He shall find the thornies set 

In his bed at night. 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen, 
We daren't go a hunting 

For fear of little men ; 
Wee folk, good folk, 

Trooping all together ; 
Green jacket, red cap. 

And white owl's feather ! 

William Allinghau. 



THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL. 

Farewell rewards and fairies ! 

Good housewives now may say ; 
For now foule sluts in dairies 

Doe fare as well as they ; 
And though they sweepe their hearths no 
less 

Than mayds were wont to doe. 
Yet who of late for cleaneliness 

Finds sixe-pence in her shoe ? 

Lament, lament, old abbeys. 

The fairies' lost command ! 
They did but change priests' babies, 

But some have changed your land ; 
And all your children, stoln from thence. 

Are now growne Puritan es, 
Who live as changelings ever since, 

For love of your demaines. 



THE GREEN GNOME. 



661 



At morning and at evening both 

You merry were and glad ; 
So little care of sleepe and sloth 

These prettie ladies had. 
When Tom came home from labor, 

Or Ciss to milking rose, 
Then merrily went their tabour. 

And nimbly went their toes. 

Witness, those rings and roundelayes 

Of theirs, which yet remaine, 
Were footed in Queen Marie's dayes 

On many a grassy playne. 
But since of late Elizabeth, 

And later James, came in 
They never danced on any heath 

As when the time hath bin. 

By which wee note the fairies 

Were of the old profession ; 
Their songs were Ave-Maries, 

Their dances were procession. 
But, now, alas ! they all are dead. 

Or gone beyond the seas. 
Or farther for religion fled ; 

Or else they take their ease. 

A tell-tale in their company 

They never could endure ; 
And whoso kept not secretlj 

Their mirth, was punished sare ; 
It was a just and Christian deed 

To pinch such blacke and blue : 
Oh how the commonwelth doth need 

Such justices as you ! 

Now they have left our quarters, 

A register they have. 
Who can preserve their charters — 

A man both wise and grave. 
An hundred of their merry pranks. 

By one that I could name, 
Are kept in store ; con twenty thanks 

To William for the same. 

To William Ohurne of Staifordshire 

Give laud and praises due. 
Who, every meale, can mend your cheare 

With tales both old and true ; 
To William all give audience. 

And pray yee for his noddle ; 
For all the fairies' evidence 

Were lost if it were addle. 

ElCHARD CORBETT. 



THE GEEEN Gl!iOME. 

A MELODY. 

EiNG, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath beils! 
Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ! thorough dales 

and dells ! 
Ehyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath 

bells! 
Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and 

fells! 

And I galloped and I galloped on my palfrey 

white as milk, 
My robe was of the sea-green woof, my serk 

was of the silk ; 
My hair was golden yellow, and it floated to 

my shoe. 
My eyes were like two harebells bathed in 

little drops of dew ; 
My palfrey, never stopping, made a music 

sweetly blent 
With the leaves of autumn dropping all around 

me as I went ; 
And I heard the bells, grown fainter, far be- 
hind me peal and play, 
Fainter, fainter, fainter, till they seemed to 

die away ; 
And beside a silver runnel, on a little heaj: 

of sand, 
I savf the green gnome sitting, with his cheek 

upon his hand. 
Then he started up to see me, and he ran with 

cry and bound, 
And drew me from my palfrey white and set 

me on the ground. 
Oh crimson, crimson were his locks, his face 

was green to see, 
But he cried, ^' light-haired lassie, you are 

bound to marry me ! " 
He clasped me round the middle small, he 

kissed me on the cheek. 
He kissed me once, lie kissed me twice — I 

could not stir or speak ; 
He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice — but 

when he kissed again, 
I called aloud upon the name of Ilim who 

died for men. 

Sing, sing! ring, ring! pleasant Sabbath bells 
Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ' thorough dale.* 
and dells ! 



352 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Rhyme, ring ! cliime, sing ! pleasant Sabbath 

bells! 
Uhime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and 

feUs! 

Oh faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and 

maids to pray, 
So faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells far 

away ; 
And as I named the Blessed iJ^arae, as in our 

need we can, 
The ugly green green gnome became a tall 

and comely man : 
His hands were white, his beard was gold, his 

eyes were black as sloes, 
His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were 

his hose ; 
A pensive light from Fairyland still lingered 

on his cheek. 
His voice was like the running brook, when 

he began to speak : 
^' Oh you have cast away the charm my step- 
dame put on me, 
Seven years I dwelt in Faeryland, and you 

have set me free. 
Oh I will mount thy palfrey white, and ride 

to kirk with thee, 
And by those little dewy eyes, we twain will 

wedded be ! " 

Back we galloped, never stopping, he before 

and I behind. 
And the autumn leaves were dropping, red 

and yellow, in the wind ; 
And the sun was shining clearer, and my 

heart was high and proud, 
As nearer, nearer, nearer, rang the kirk bells 

sweet and loud. 
And we saw the kirk before us, as we trotted 

down the fells, 
And nearer, clearer, o'er us, rang the welcome 

of the bells. 

Ring, sing ! ring, sing ! pleasant Sabbath bells ! 
Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme ! thorough dales 

and dells ! 
Rhyme, ring ! chime, sing ! pleasant Sabbath 

bells ! 
Oliime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and 

fells! 

EoBERT Buchanan. 



ARIEL'S SONGS, 



Come unfco these yellow sands, 

And then take hands ; 
Court'sied when you have, and kissed. 

(The wild waves whist !) 
Foot it featly here and there ; 
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear 

Hark, hark ! 
BowgJi^ woicgh. 

The watch-dogs bark — 
Bowgh^ iDOwgh, 
Hark, hark! I hear 
The strain of strutting chanticleer 
Cry Cock-a-doodle-doo. 



Full fathoms five thy father lies ; 
Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes; 
Nothing of him doth fade 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 

Ding-dong, 
Hark ! now I hear them — ding, dong, bell t 



Where the bee sucks there suck I ; 
In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 
There I couch when owls do cry ; 
On the bat's back I do fly 
After summer merrily. 
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now. 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 

Shakkspeaee 



SONG. 
Heae, sweet spirit, hear the spell, 
Lest a blacker charm compel ! 
So shall the midnight breezes swell 
With thy deep, long, lingering knell 

And at evening evermore, 

In a chapel on the shore, 

Shall the chaunter, sad and saintly, 

Yellow tapers burning Mntly, 

Doleful masses chaunt for thee- 

Miserere Domine ! 



THE WATER FAY. 



65.S 



Hark ! the cadence dies away 
On the quiet moonlight sea ; 

The boatmen rest their oars and say, 
Miserere Domine ! 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



THE LORELEI. 

I KNOW not what it X)resages, 
This heart with sadness fraught : 

'Tis a tale of the olden ages, 
That will not from my thought. 

The air grows cool, and darkles *, 
The Rhine flows calmly on ; 

The mountain summit sparldes 
In the light of the setting sun. 

There sits, in soft reclining, 

A maiden wondrous fair, 
With golden raiment shining, 

And combing her golden hair. 

With a comb of gold she combs it ; 

And combing, low singeth she — 
A song of a strange, sweet sadness, 

A wonderful melody. 

The sailor shudders, as o'er him, 
The strain comes floating by ; 

He sees not the cliffs before him — 
He only looks on high. 

Ah ! round him the dark waves, flinging 
Their arms draw him slowly down — 

And this, with her wild, sweet singing, 
The Lorelei has done. 

Henry Heine. (German.) 
Tnuislation of CnRiSTOPHER Pearse Cranch. 



THE WATER LADY. 



Alas, that moon should ever beam 
To show what man should never see !- 
I saw a maiden on a stream. 
And fair was she ! 

II. 

1 staid awhile, to see her throw 
Her tresses back, that all beset 
The fair horizon of her brow 
With clouds of jot. 



m. 



I staid a little while to view 
Her cheek, that wore, in place of red, 
The bloom of water — tender blue, 
Daintily spread. 



IV. 

I staid to watch, a little space, 
Her parted lips, if she would sing ; 
The waters closed above her face 
With many a ring. 

T. 

And still I staid a little more — 
Alas ! she never comes again ! 
I throw my flowers from the shore, 
And watch in vain. 

VI. 

I know my life will fade away — 
I know that I must vainly pine ; 
For I am made of mortal clay, 
But she 's divine ! 

Thomas Iiooix 



THE WATER FAY. 

The night comes stealing o'er me, 

And clouds are on the sea ; 
While the wavelets rustle before me 

With a mystical melody. 

A water-maid rose singing 

Before me, fair and pale ; 
And snow-white breasts were springiog, 

Like fountains, 'neath her veil. 

She kissed me and she pressed me, 
Till I wished her arms away : 

" Why hast thou so caressed me, 
Thou lovely water fay ? ■' 

" Oil, thou need'st not alarm thee, 

That thus thy form I hold ; 
For I only seek to warm me, 

And the night is black and cold." 



!>54 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



^' The wind to the waves is callkig, 
The moonlight is fading away ; 

And tears down thy cheek are falHng, 
Thou beautiful water fay ! " 

"The wind to the waves is calling. 
And the moonlight grows dim on the 
rocks ; 
But no tears from mine eyes are falhng, 
'Tis the water which drips from my 
locks." 

" The ocean is heaving and sobbing, 
The sea-mews scream in the spray ; 

And thy heart is wildly throbbing, 
Thou beautiful water fay ! " 

" My heart is wildly swelling, 
And it beats in burning truth ;' 

For I love thee, past all telling — 
Thou beautiful mortal youth." 

Henry Heine. (German.) 
IVanslation of Ch a tiles G. Leland. 



SONTG. 



A LAKE and a fairy boat, 

To sail in the moonlight clear — 

And merrily we would float 

From tlie dragons that watch us here! 



Thy gown should be snow-white silk ; 
And strings of orient pearls, 
Like gossamers dipped in milk. 
Should twine with thy raven curls ! 

m. 

Red rubies should deck thy hands, 
And diamonds should be thy dower — 
But fairies have broke their wands, 
And wishing has lost its power ! 

Thomas Hood. 



THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 

PART I. 

On either side the river lie 
Long flelds of barley and of rye. 
That clothe the wold and meet the sky ^ 
And through the field the road runs by 

To many-towered Camelot : 
And up and down the people go, 
Gazing where the lilies blow 
Round an island there below — 

The island of Shalott, 

Willows whiten ; aspens quiver ; 
Little breezes dusk and shiver 
Through the wave that runs for ever 
By the island in the river. 

Flowing down to Camelot. 
Four gray walls, and four gray towers, 
Overlook a sj^ace of flowers; 
And the silent isle imbowers 

Thelady of Shalott. 

By the margin, willow-veiled, 
Shde the heavy barges, trailed 
By slow horses ; and, unbailed. 
The shallop flitteth, silken-sailed 

Skimming down to Camelot , 
But who hath seen her wave her hand ? 
Or at the casement seen her stand ? 
Or is she known in all the land — 

Thelady of Shalott? 

Only reapers, reaping early 
In among the bearded barley, 
Hear a song that echoes cheerly 
From the river, winding clearly 

Down to towered Camelot ; 
And by the moon the reaper weary. 
Piling sheaves in uplands airy, 
Listening, whispers, " 'T is the fairy 

Lady of Shalott." 

PART II. 

There she weaves by night and day 
A magic web with colors gay. 
She has heard a whisper say 
A curse is on her if she stay 

To look down to CameloU 



THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 



55S 



She knows not what the curse may bo ; 
And so she weaveth steadily, 
And little other care hath she — 
The lady of Shalott. 

And, moving through a mirror clear 
That hangs hefore her all the year. 
Shadows of the world appear. 
There she sees the highway near, 

Winding down to Camelot ; 
There the river eddy whirls ; 
And there the surly village-churls, 
And the red cloaks of market-girls, 

Pass onward from Shalott. 

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, 
An ahbot on an ambling pad — 
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. 
Or long-haired page, in crimson clad, 

Goes by to towered Camelot ; 
And sometimes through the mirror blue 
The knights come riding, two and two : 
Slie hath no loyal knight and true — 

The lady of Shalott. 

But in her web she still delights 
To weave the mirror's magic sights ; 
For often, through the silent nights, 
A funeral, with plumes and lights 

And music, Avent to Camelot ; 
Or, when the moon was overhead, 
Came two young lovers lately wed ; 
''I am half-sick of shadows," said 

The ladv of Shalott. 



PART III. 

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves 
He rode between the barley sheaves ; 
The sun came dazzling through the leaves, 
And flamed upon the brazen greaves 

Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
A red-cross knight for ever kneeled 
To a lady in his shield. 
That sparkled on the yellow field. 

Beside remote Shalott. 

The gemmy bridle glittered free. 
Like to some branch of stars we see 



Hung in the golden galaxy. 
The bridle bells rang merrily. 

As he rode down to Camelot ; 
And, from his blazoned baldric slung, 
A mighty silver bugle hung ; 
And as he rode his armor rung, 

Beside remote Shalott. 

All in the blue unclouded weather 
Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather ; 
The helmet and the helmet-feather 
Burned like one burning flame together, 

As he rode down to Camelot. 
As often, through the purple night. 
Below the starry clusters bright, 
Some bearded meteor, trailing light, 

Moves over still Shalott. 

His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed ; 
On burnished hooves his war-horse trode \ 
From underneath his helmet flowed 
His coal-black curls as on he rode. 

As he rode down to Camelot. 
From the bank and from the river 
He flashed into the crystal mirror : 
" Tirra lirra," by the river, 

Sang Sir Lancelot. 

She left the web, she left the loom ; 
She made three paces througli the room ; 
She saw the water-lily bloom ; 
She saw the helmet and the plume ; 

She looked down to Camelot : 
Out flew the web, and floated wide ; 
The mirror cracked from side to side ; 
''The curse is come upon me," cried 

The lady of Shalott. 



In the stormy east-wind straining. 
The pale yellow woods were waning- - 
The broad stream in his banks complainin;;^ 
Heavily the low sky raining 

Over towered Camelot ; 
Down she came, and found a boat, 
Beneath a willow left afloat ; 
And round about the ])row she wrote 

The Jadij of Shalott. 



556 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION". 



And down the river's dim expanse — 
Like some bold seer in a trance, 
Seeing all his own mischance — 
With a glassy countenance 

Did she look to Cameiot. 
And at the closing of the day 
She loosed the chain, and down she lay ; 
The broad stream bore her far away — 

The lady of Shalott. 

Lying robed in snowy white, 
That loosely flew to left and right — 
The leaves upon her falling light — 
Through the noises of the night 

She floated down to Cameiot ; 
And as the boat-head wound along, 
The willowy hills and fields among, 
They heard her singing her last song — 

The lady of Shalott— 

Heard a carol, mournful, holy. 
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly — 
Till her blood was frozen slowly. 
And her eyes were darkened wholly. 

Turned to towered Cameiot , 
For ere she reached, upon the tide. 
The first house by the water-side, 
Singing, in her song she died — 

The lady of Shalott. 

Under tower and balcony. 

By gar den- wall and gallery, 

A gleaming shape, she floated by — • 

A corse between the houses high — 

Silent, into Cameiot. 
Out upon the wharfs they came, 
Kjiight and burgher, lord and dame ; 
And round the prow they read her name- 

Tlie lady of Shalott. 

Who is this ? and what is here ? 

And in the royal palace near 

Died the sound of royal cheer ; 

And they crossed themselves for fear — 

All the knights at Cameiot ; 
But Lancelot mused a little space : 
Ee said, " She has a lovely face ; 
God in his mercy lend her grace — 

The lady of Shalott.'' 

Alfbkd Tennyson, 



COMUS, A MASK. 

THE PERSOXg. 

The attendant Spirit, aftorwardiS iu the habit 

of Thtesis. 
CoMUS, with his crow. 
The Lady. 
First Bkother. 
Second Bkothee. 
Sabbina, the Kj^mph. 

THE FIRST SCENE DISCOVERS A WILD A^ OOP. 

The attendant Spirit descends or enters. 
Before the starry threshold of Jove's court 
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes 
Of bright aerial spirits live insphered 
In regions mild of calm and serene air, 
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, 
Which men call earth, and, with low-thought- 

ed care 
Confined, and pestered in this pinfold here. 
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being, 
Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives^ 
Afcer this mortal change, to her true ser- 
vants. 
Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seatii* 
Yet some there be that by due steps aspire 
To lay their just hands on that golden key 
That opes the palace of eternity. 
To such my errand is ; and, but for such, 
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds 
With the rank vapors of this sin-worn mould. 
But to my task: Neptune, besides the 
sway 
Of every salt flood, and each ebbing stream. 
Took in, by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove. 
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles. 
That like to rich and various gems inlay 
The unadorned bosom of the deep ; 
Which he, to grace his tributary gods. 
By course commits to several government, 
And gives them leave to w^ear their sapphire 

crowns. 
And wield their little tridents. But this isle, 
The greatest and the best of all the main, 
He quarters to his blue-haired deities ; 
And all this tract, that fronts the falling sun, 
A noble peer of mickle trust and power 
Has in his charge, with tempered awe to 

guide 
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms: 



GOMUS. 



557 



WJiere his fair offspring, nursed in princely 

lore, 
Aie coming to attend tlieir father's state. 
And new-intrusted sceptre ; but tlieir way 
Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear 

wood, 
The nodding horror of whose shady orows 
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger. 
And here their tender age might suffer peril, 
But that, by quick command from sovereign 

Jove, 
I was despatched for their defence and guard ; 
And listen why — for I will tell you now 
What never yet was heard in tale or song, 
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower. 
"Bacchus, that first from out the purple 

grape 
Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine, 
After the Tuscan mariners transformed. 
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore as the winds 

listed, 
On Circe's island fell. Who knows not Circe, 
The daughter of the sun, whose charmed cup 
Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, 
And downward fell into a grovelling swine ? 
This nymph, that gazed upon his clustering 

locks 
With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe 

youth, 
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son 
Much like his father, but his mother more ; 
Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus 

named ; 
Who ripe, and frolic of his full grown age. 
Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields. 
At last betakes him to this ominous wood. 
And, in thick shelter of black shades imbow- 

ered. 
Excels his mother at her mighty art. 
Offering to every weary traveller 
His orient liquor in a crystal glass. 
To quench the drouth of Phoebus ; which as 

they taste. 
For most do taste through fond intemp'rate 

thirst) 
Soon as the potion works, their human coun- 
tenance, 
TL express resemblance of the gods, is 

changed 
Into sjuie brutish form, of wolf, or bear, 
Or ounce, or tiger, hog or bearded goat — 



AU other parts remaining as they were ; 
And they, so perfect is their misery, 
JSTot once perceive their foul disfigurement. 
But boast themselves more comely than be- 
fore ; 
And all their friends and native home forget, 
To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. 
Therefore, when any favored of high Jove 
Chances to pass through this adventurous 

glade, 
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star 
I shoot from heav'n, to give him safe con- 
voy-- 
As now I do. But first I must put off 
These my sky robes, spun out of Iris' woof. 
And take the weeds and likeness of a swain. 
That to the service of this house belongs, 
Who with his soft pipe, and smooth-dittied 

song. 
Well knows to still the wild winds when they 

roar. 
And hush the waving woods; nor of less 

faith. 
And, in this oflSce of his mountain watch, 
Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid. 
Of this occasion. But I hear the tread 
Of hateful steps ; I must be viewless now, 

Comus enters^ with a charming rod in one 
hand^ his glass in the other ; icith him a 
rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts 
of wild beasts — dut otherioise lilce men and 
women, their apparel glistening ; they come 
in making a riotous and unruly noise^ icith 
torches in their hands. 

Comus. The star that bids the shepherd fold 

Now the top of heaven doth hold ; 

And the gilded car of day 

His glowing axle doth allay 

In the steep Atlantic stream ; 

And the slope sun his upward beaiL 

Shoots against the dusky pole. 

Pacing toward the other goal 

Of his chamber in the east. 

Meanwhile welcome Joy and Feast, 

Midnight Shout and Eevelry, 

Tipsy Dance and Jollity. 

Braid your locks with rosy twine 

Dropping odors, dropping wine. 

Rigor now is gone to bed, 



)58 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION, 



And Advice with scrupulous head; 

Strict Age, and sour Severity, 

With their grave saws in slumber lie. 

We that are of purer fire 

Imitate the starry quire, 

Who in their nightly watchful spheres 

Lead in swift round the months and years. 

The sounds and seas, with all their finny 
drove, 

Now to the moon in wavering morrice move ; 

And on the tawny sands and shelves 

Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves. 

By dimpled brook, and fountain brim, 

The wood-nymphs, decked with daisies trim, 

Their merry wakes and pastimes keep ; 

What hath night to do with sleep ? 

Night hath better sweets to prove ; 

Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. 

Come ! let us our rites begin — 

'T is only daylight that makes us sin. 

Which these dun shades will ne'er report. 

Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport. 

Dark-veiled Cotytto ! t' whom the secret 
fiame 

Of midnight torches burns ; mysterious dame. 

That ne'er art called but when the dragon 
womb 

Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom. 

And makes one blot of all the air ; 

Stay thy cloudy ebon chair, 

Wherein thou ridest with Hecate, and be- 
friend 

Us, thy vowed priests, till utmost end 

Of all thy dues be done, and none left out. 

Ere the babbling eastern scout. 

The nice morn, on the Indian steep 

From her cabined loophole peep. 

And to the tell-tale sun descry 

Our concealed solemnity. 

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground 

In a light fantastic round ! 

THE MEASUEE. 

Break off", break oft"! I feel the different pace 
Of some chaste footing near about this ground. 
Run to your slirouds, within these brakes and 

trees ; 
Our number may affright some virgin snre, 
(For so I can distinguish by mme art). 
Benighted in these wooas. Now to my 

cliarms, 



And to my wily trains ; I shall ere long 
Be well stocked, with as fair a herd as grazed 
About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl 
My dazzling spells into the spungy air, 
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion. 
And give it false presentments ; lest the plac^ 
And my quaint habits breed astonishment. 
And put the damsel to suspicious flight— 
Which must not be, for that's against my 

course. 
I, under fair pretence of friendly ends, 
And well placed words of glozing courtesy. 
Baited with reasons not unplausible, 
Wind me into the easy-hearted man, 
And hug him into snares. When once her 

eye 
Hath met the virtue of this magic dust, 
I shall appear some harmless villager, 
Whom thrift keeps up, about his country gear 
But here she comes ; I fairly step aside, 
And hearken, if I may, her business here 

THE LADY ENTERS. 

This way the noise was, if mine ear bo true— 
My best guide now ; methought it was the 

sound 
Of riot and ill-managed merriment. 
Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe 
Stirs up among the loose, unlettered hinds. 
When for their teeming flocks, and granges 

full, 
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous 

Pan, 
And thank the gods amiss. I should be 

loath 
To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence 
Of such late wassailers ; yet oh ! where else 
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood? 
My brothers, when they saw me wxaried oul 
W^ith tins long way, resolving here to lodge 
Under the spreading favor of these pines, 
Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket side 
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit 
As the kind hospitable woods provide. 
They left me, then, when .the gray-hooded 

even. 
Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, 
Ro«e from the hindmost wheels of Phoebub' 



COMUS. 



559 



But TV here they are, and why they came not 
back. 

Is now the labor of my thoughts ; 't is like- 
liest 

rhey had engaged their wandering steps too 
far: 

And envious darkness, ere they could return, 

Had stole them from me. Else, O thievish 
night. 

Why shouldst thou, but for seme felonious 
end, 

In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars, 

That nature hung in heaven, and filled their 
lamps 

^ith everlasting oil, to give due light 

To the misled and lonely traveller ? 

This is the place, as well as I may guess, 

Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth 

Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear ; 

Yet nought but single darkness do I find. 

What might this be ? A thousand fantasies 

Begin to throng into my memory, 

Of calhng shapes, and beckoning shadows 
dire. 

And airy tongues, that syllable men's names 

On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. 

These thoughts may startle well, but not as- 
tound 

The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 

By a strong-siding champion, conscience. 

welcome pure-eyed faith, white-handed 

hope — 
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings — 
And thou, unblemished form of chastity ! 

1 see ye visibly, and now believe 

That he, the supreme good, t' whom all 

things ill 
Are but as slavish oflicers of vengeance, 
Would send a glistering guardian, if need 

were. 
To keep my life and honor unassailed. 
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night? 
I did not err, there does a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver Iming on the night. 
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. 
I cannot halloo to my brothers; but 
Such noise as I can make, to be heard far- 
thest, 
I 'U venture, for my new-eidivened spirits 
l^rompt me ; and they perhaps are not far off 



SOXG. 

SwEEt Echo, sweetest nymph — that livest 
unseen 
Within thy airy shell, 
By slow Meander's margent green. 
And in the violet-embroidered vale 

Where the love-lorn nightingale 
Kightly to thee her sad song mourneth well- 
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
That likest thy IS'arcissus are r 
Oh, if thou have 
Hid them in some fiowery cave, 
Tell me but where. 
Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the 

sphere ! 
So mayst thou be translated to the skies. 
And give resounding grace to all heaven's 
harmonies. 

Enter Comus. 

Com. Can any mortal mixture of earth's 

mould 
Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment? 
Sure something holy lodges in that breast, 
And with these raptures moves the vocal air 
To testify his hidden residence. 
How sweetly did they float upon the wings 
Of silence, through the empty- vaulted night — 
At every fall smoothing the raven down 
Of darkness till it smiled ! I oft have heard 
My mother Circe with the sirens three. 
Amidst the flowery-kirtled ISTaiades 
Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs. 
Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned 

soul. 
And lap it in Elysium ; Scylla wept. 
And chid her barking waves into attention, 
And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause 
Yet they in pleasing slumber lu.lcd the sense, 
And in sweet madness robbed it of itself. 
But such a sacred and home-felt delight. 
Such sober certainty of waking bliss, 
I never heard till now. I 'II speak to her. 
And she shall be my queen. Hail, foreign 

wonder ! 
Whom, certain, these rough shades did never 

breed. 
Unless the goddess that in rural shrine 
Dwellest hero with Tan or Silvan, by blesr 

son^ 



560 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Forbidding every bleak imkindly fog 
To touch the prosperous growth of this tall 
wood! 
Lad. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that 
praise 
That is addressed to unattending ears ; 
Not any boast of skilly but extreme shift 
How to regain my severed company, 
Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo, 
To give me answer from her mossy couch. 
Com. What chance, good ^ady, hath bereft 

you thus ? 
Lad. Dim darkness, and this leafy laby- 
rinth. 
Com. Could that divide you from near ush- 
ering guides ? 
Lad. They left me weary on a grassy turf. 
Com. By falsehood, or discourtesy ? or why ? 
Lad. To seek i' th' valley some cool friendly 

spring. 
Com. And left your fair side all unguarded, 

lady? 
Lad. They were but twain, and purposed 

quick return. 
Com. Perhaps forestalling night prevented 

them. 
Lad. How easy my misfortune is to hit ! 
Com. Imports their loss, beside the present 

need? 
Lad. No less than if I should my brothers 

lose. 
Com. Were they of manly prime, or youth- 
ful bloom ? 
Lad. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazored 

lips. 
Com. Two such I saw, what time the la- 
bored ox 
In his loose traces from the furrow came. 
And the swinked hedger at his supper sat ; 
I saw them, under a green mantling vine 
That crawls along the side of yOn small hill. 
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots. 
Their port was more than human, as they 

stood ; 
I took it for a fairy vision 
Of come gay creatures of the element. 
That in the colors of the rainbow live. 
And play i' th' plighted clouds. I was awe- 
struck ; 
And as I passed, I worshipped. If those you 
seek. 



It were a journey like the path to heaven 
To help you find them. 

Lad. Gentle villager, 
What readiest way would bring me to that 
place ? 

Com. Due west it rises from this shrubby 
point. 

Lad. To find that out, good shepherd, I 
suppose, 
In such a scant allowance of star-light. 
Would overtask the best land-pilot's art, 
Without the sure guess of well-practised feet. 

Com. I know each lane, and every alle^ 
green, 
Dingle or bushy dell, of this wild wood, 
And every bosky bourn from side to side — 
My daily walks and ancient neighborhood ; 
And if your stray-attendants be yet lodged. 
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know 
Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark 
From her thatched pallat rouse ;' if otherwise, 
I can conduct you, lady, to a low 
But loyal cottage, where you may be safe 
Till further quest. 

Lad. Shepherd, I take thy word. 
And trust thy honest-oflfered courtesy, 
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds 
With smoky rafters, than in tap'stry halls 
And courts of princes, where it first was 

named, 
And yet is most pretended ; in a place 
Less warranted than this, or less secure, 
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it. 
Eye me, blest Providence, and square my 

trial 
To my proportioned strength. Shepherd, 
lead on ! 

Enter The Two Beothees. 

1 Be. IJnmufiae, ye faint stars! and thou^ 

fair moon, 
That wont'st to love the traveller's benison. 
Stoop thy pale visage through an amber 

cloud. 
And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here 
In double night of darkness and of shades ; 
Or if your influence be quite dammed up 
With black usurping mists, some gentle taper, 
Though a rush candle from the wicker-hole 
Of some clay habitation, visit us 



d 



COMUS. 



661 



With thy long-levelled rule of streaming 

light; 
And thou slialt be our star of Arcady, 
Or Tyrian cynosure. 

2 Be. Or if our eyes 
Be barred that happiness, might we but hear 
The folded flocks penned in their wattled 

cotes, 
Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops, 
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock 
Count the night watches to his feathery 

dames, 
'T would be some solace yet, some little cheer- 
ing 
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs. 
But oh that hapless virgin, our lost sister I 
Where may she wander now, whither betake 

her 
From the chill dew, among rude burs and 

thistles ? 
Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now ; 
Or 'gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm 
Leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad 

fears ; 
W^hat if in wild amazement and affright. 
Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp 
Of savage hunger, or of savage heat ? 

1 Br. Peace, brother! be not over-exqui- 
site 
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils ; 
For grant they be so — while they rest un- 
known, 
What need a man forestall his date of grief. 
And run to meet what he would most avoid ? 
Or if they be but false alarms of fear. 
How bitter is such self-delusion ! 
I do not think my sister so to seek, 
Or so unprincipled in virtue's book. 
And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms 

ever. 
As that the single want of light and noise 
(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) 
Could stir the constant mood of her calm 

thoughts, 
And put them into misbecoming plight. 
Virtue could see to do what virtue would 
By her own radiant light, though sun and 

moon 
Were in the flat sea sunk. And wisdom's self 
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, 
Where, with her best nurse, contemplation, 
75 



She plumes her feathers, and lets grow hei 

wings. 
That in the various bustle of resort 
Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impaired. 
He, that has light within his own clear breast 
May sit i' th' centre, and enjoy bright day ; 
But he that hides a dark soul, and foul 

thoughts, 
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun ; 
Himself is his own dungeon. 

2 Be. 'T is most true, 
That musing meditation most affects 
The pensive secrecy of desert cell. 
Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds, 
And sits as safe as in a senate house ; 
For who would rob a hermit of his weeds. 
His few books, or his beads, or maple dish, 
Or do his gray hairs any violence ? 
But beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree 
Laden with blooming gold, had need the 

guard 
Of dragon watch with unenchanted eye, 
To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit 
From the rash hand of bold incontinence. 
You may as well spread out the unsunned 

heaps 
Of miser's treasure by an outlaw's den, 
And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope 
Danger will wink on opportunity. 
And let a single helpless maiden pass 
Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste. 
Of night, or loneliness, it recks me not ; 
I fear the dread events that dog them both. 
Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the per 

son 
Of our unowned sister. 

1 Be. I do not, brother. 

Infer as if I thought my sister's state 
Secure without all doubt, or controversy; 
Yet where an equal poise of hope and fear 
Does arbitrate tji' event, my nature is 
That I incline to hope, rather than fear, 
And gladly banish squint suspicion. 
My sister is not so defenceless left 
As you iuuigine ; she has hidden strength, 
Which you remember not. 

2 Bii. What hidden strength. 

Unless the strength of heaven, if you mean 
that? 
1 Be. I mean that too, but yet a hidden 
strength, 



662 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Which, if heaven gave it, may be termed her 

own . 
'T is chastity, my brother, chastity : 
She that has that is clad in complete steel. 
And like a quivei*ed nymph with arrows keen 
May trace huge forests, and unharbored 

heaths. 
Infamous hills and sandy perilous wilds. 
Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, 
No savage fierce, bandit, or mountaineer, 
Will dare to soil her virgin purity ; 
Yea there, where very desolation dwells 
By grots, and caverns shagged with horrid 

shades, 
She may pass on with unblenched majesty, 
Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. 
Some say no evil thing that w^alks by night, 
In fog, or fire, by lake, or moorish fen. 
Blue, meagre hag, or stubborn, unlaid ghost, 
That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, 
No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine. 
Hath hurtful power o^er true virginity. 
Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call 
Antiquity from the old schools of Greece 
To testify the arms of Chastity ? 
Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow, 
Fjiir silver- shafted queen, forever chaste. 
Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness 
And spotted mountain pard, but set at naught 
The frivolous bolt of Cupid ; gods and men 
Feared her stern frown, and she was queen o' 

the woods. 
What Avas that snaky -headed Gorgon shield 
That wise Minerva wore, unconquered vir- 
gin, 
Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed 

stone. 
But rigid looks of chaste austerity. 
And noble grace that dashed brute violence 
With sudden adoration, and blank awe ? 
So dear to heaven is saintly chastity. 
That when a soul is found sincerely so 
A thousand liveried angels lackey her, 
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, 
And in clear dream, and solemn vision, 
TeU her of things that no gross ear can hear, 
fill oft converse with heavenly habitants 
Begin to cast a beam on th' outw^ard shape. 
The unpolluted temple of the mind, 
And turns it by degrees to the souTs essence, 
rill all be made immortal ; but when lust. 



By unchaste looks, loose ffestures, and fou 

talk, 
But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, 
Lets in defilement to the inward parts. 
The soul grows clotted by contagion, 
Imbodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose 
The divine property of her first being. 
Such are those thick and gloomy shadows 

damp. 
Oft seen in charnel vaults, and sepulchres. 
Lingering, and sitting by a new-made grave. 
As loath to leave the body that it loved, 
And linked itself by carnal sensuality 
To a degenerate and degraded state. 

2 Be. How charming is divine philosophy 1 
iNot harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 
But musical as is Apollo's lute. 
And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets, 
Where no crude surfeit reigns. 

1 Be. List! list! I hear 

Some far off halloo break the silent air. 

2 Br. Methought so, too ; what should it 

be? 

1 Be. For certain 

Either some one like us, night-foundered here 
Or else some neighbor wood-man ; or, at 

worst. 
Some roving robber calling to his fellows. 

2 Be. Heaven keep my sister. Again, 

again, and near ; 
Best draw, and stand upon our guard. 

1 Be. I '11 halloo ; 

If he be friendly, he comes w^ell ; if not. 
Defence is a good cause, and heaven be for 
us. 

The attendant Spieit, halited lihe a Shepherd, 

That halloo I should know, what are you? 

speak ; 
Come not too near, you fall on iron stakes 

else. 
Spi. What voice is that ? my young lord ? 

speak again. 

2 Be. O brother, 't is my father's shepherd, 

sure. 
1 Be. Thyrsis? whose artful strains have 

oft delayed 
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal. 
And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale. 
How cam'st thou here, good swain? hati 

any ram 



COMUS. 



56b 



Slipfc from, the fold, or young kid lost his 

dam, 
Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook ? 
How could'st thou find this dark sequestered 

nook? 
Spi. my loved master's heir, and his 

next joy, 
I came not here on such a trivial toy 
As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth 
Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth 
That doth enrich these downs is worth a 

thought 
To this my errand, and the care it brought. 
But oh, my virgin lady, where is she ? 
Eow chance she is not in your company ? 
1 Br. To tell thee sadly, shepherd, without 

blame, 
Or our neglect we lost her as we came. 
Spi. Aye me unhappy ! then my fears are 

true. 
1 Br. What fears, good Thyrsis ? Prithee 

briefly shew. 
Spi. I '11 tell ye ; 't is not vain or fabulous 
(Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance) 
What the sage poets, taught by th' heavenly 

muse, 
Storied of old in high immortal verse, 
Of dii*e chimeras and enchanted isles. 
And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to 

hell; 
For such there be, but unbelief is blind. 

Within the navel of this hideous wood. 
Immured in cypress shades a sorcerer dwells. 
Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus, 
Deep skilled in all his mother's witcheries; 
And here to every thirsty wanderer 
By sly enticement gives his baneful cup. 
With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing 

poison 
The visage quite transtbrms of him that 

drinks, 
And the inglorious likeness of a beast 
Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage 
Charactered in the face ; this have I learnt 
Tending my flocks hard by i' th' hilly crofts. 
That brow this bottom glade, whence night 

by night 
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl 
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey. 
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate 
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers. 



Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells. 
To inveigle and invite th' unwary sense 
Of them that pass un wee ting by the way. 
This evening late, by then the chewing flocks 
Haid ta'en their supper on the savory herb 
Of knot-grass dew-besprint, and were in fold 
I sat me down to watch upon a bank 
With ivy canopied, and interwove 
With flaunting honey-suckle, and began. 
Wrapt in a jjleasing fit of melancholy, 
To meditate my rural minstrelsy, 
Till fancy had her till ; but ere a close. 
The wonted roar was up amidst the woods. 
And filled the air with barbarous dissonance ; 
At which I ceased, and listened them awhile, 
Till an unusual stop of sudden silence 
Gave respite to the drowsy flighted steeds 
That draw the litter of close-curtained sleep ; 
At last a soft and solemn breathing sound 
Ros^ like a steam of rich distilled perfumes, 
And stole upon the air, that even silence 
Was took ere she was ware, and wished she 

might 
Deny her nature, and be never more, 
Still to be so displaced. I was all ear, 
And took in strains that might create a soul 
Under the ribs of death ; but oh, ere long. 
Too well I did perceive it was the voice 
Of my most honored lady, your dear sister. 
Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and 

fear ; 
And poor hapless nightingale, thought I, 
How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly 

snare ! 
Then down the lawns I ran with headlong 

haste. 
Through paths and turnings often trod by 

<lay, 
Till guided by mine ear I found the i)lace, 
Where that damned wizard, hid in sly dis- 
guise, 
(For so by certain signs I knew) had met 
Already, ere my best speed could prevent, 
The aidless innocent lady, his wished prey, 
Who gently asked if he had seen such two, 
Supposing him some neighbor villager. 
Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guessed 
Ye were the two she meant; with that I 

sprung 
Into swift flight, till I had found you here 
But further know I not. 



564 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



2 Be. night and shades, 
How are ye joined with hell in triple knot, 
Against the unarmed weakness of one virgin. 
Alone and helpless ! Is this the confidence 
You gave me, brother ? 

1 Bii. Yes, and keep it still. 
Lean on it safely ; not a period 
Shall be unsaid for me ; against the threats 
Of malice or of sorcery, or that power 
Which erring men call chance, this I hold 

firm. 
Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt. 
Surprised by unj ust force, but not enthralled ; 
Yea, even that which mischief meant most 

harm. 
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory ; 
But evil on itself shall back recoil. 
And mix no more with goodness, when at 

last. 
Gathered like scum, and settled to itself, 
[t shall be in eternal, restless change 
Self-fed, and self-consumed ; if this fail, 
The pillared firmament is rottenness. 
And earth's base built on stubble. But come, 

let 's on. 
Against tli' opposing will and arm of heaven 
May never this just sword be lifted up ; 
But for that damned magician, let hira be 

girt 
With all the grisly legions that troop 
Under the sooty flag of Acheron, 
Harpies and hydras, or all the monstrous 

forms 
'Twixt Africa and Ind, I '11 find him out. 
And force him to restore his purchase back. 
Or drag him by the curls to a foul death. 
Cursed as his life. 

Spi. Alas ! good venturous youth, 
. ;ove thy courage yet, and bold emprise; 
But here thy sword can do thee little stead. 
Far other arms and other weapons must 
Be those that quell the might of hellish 

charms ; • 

He with his bare wand can unthread thy 

joints, 
^nd crumble all thy sinews. 

1 Be. Why, prithee, shepherd, 
How durst thou then thyself approach so 

near 
As to make this relation ? 
Spi Care, and utmost ghifts 



How to secure the lady from surprisal, 
Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad, 
Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled 
In every virtuous plant and healing herb 
That spreads her verdant leaf to th' morning 

ray: 
He loved me well, and oft would beg mo 

sing. 
Which when I did, he on the tender grass 
Would sit, and hearken even to ecstasy. 
And in requital ope his leathern scrip, 
And shew me simples of a thousand names, 
Telling their strange and vigorous faculties. 
Among the rest a small unsightly root. 
But of divine efi'ect, he culled me out ; 
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, 
But in another country, as he said, 
Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this 

soil — 
Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull 

swain 
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon ; 
And yet more medicinal is it than that moly 
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave ; 
He called it hgemony, and gave it me. 
And bade me keep it as of sovereign use 
'Gainst all enchantments, mildew, blast, or 

damp, ' 
Or ghastly furies' apparition. 
I pursed it up; but little reckoning made, 
Till now that this extremity compelled ; 
But now I find it true ; for by this means 
I knew the foul enchanter, though disguised 
Entered the very lime-twigs of his spells. 
And yet came off; if you have this about 

you 
(As I will give you when we go), you may 
Boldly assault the necromancer's hall ; 
Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood 
And brandished blade, rush on him, break 

his glass. 
And shed the luscious liquor on the ground, 
But seize his wand ; though he and his cursed 

crew 
Fierce sign of battle make, and menace higlu 
Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke, 
Yet will they soon retire if he but shrink. ■ 
1 Be. Thyrsis, lead on apace, I '11 follcw I 

thee, 
And some good angel bear a shield bef«3r^ 

Qfi. 



COMUS. 



665 



Tlie scene changes to a stately palace^ set out 
with all manner of dcliciousness ; soft mu- 
sic^ tables spread with all dainties. Comus 
appears with his roljble^ and the Lady set in 
an enchanted chair^ to whom he offers his 
glass^ which she puts ly^ and goes about to 



Com. ISTay, lady, sit! if I but wave this 

wand, 
Tour nerves are all chained up in alabaster. 
And you a statue, or as Daphne was 
Root-bound, that fled Apollo. 

Lad. Fool, do not boast ! 
Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind 
With all thy charms, although this corporal 

rind 
Thou hast immanacled, while heaven sees 

good. 
Com. Why are you vexed, lady ? why do 

you frown ? 
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these 

gates 
Sorrow flies far ; see, here be all the pleasures 
That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts, 
When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns 
Brisk as the April buds in primrose-season. 
And first behold this cordial julep here. 
That flames and dances in his crystal bounds. 
With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups 

mixed ; 
Not that Nepenthes, which the wife of Thone 
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena, 
Is of such power to stir up joy as this. 
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst. 
Why should you be so cruel to yourself, 
And to those dainty limbs wliich nature lent 
For gentle usage, and soft delicacy ? 
But you invert the covenants of her trust. 
And harshly deal, like an ill borrower. 
With that which you received on other terms. 
Scorning the unexempt condition 
By which all mortal frailty must subsist. 
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain, 
That liave been tired all day without repast, 
And timely rest have wanted ; but fair virgin, 
This will restore all soon. 

Lad. 'T will not, false traitor — 
T will not restore tlio truth and honesty 
riiat thou hast banished from tliy tongue with 

lies. 



AY as this the cottage, and the safe abode, 
Thou told'st me of? What grim aspects are 

these. 
These ugly-headed monsters? Mercy guard 

me! 
Hence with thy brewed enchantments, foul 

deceiver ! 
Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence 
With visored falsehood and base forgery ? 
And would'st thou seek again to trap me here 
With liquorish baits, fit to insnare a brute ? 
Were it a draft for Juno when she banquets, 
I would not taste thy treasonous offer ; none 
But such as are good men can give good things, 
And that which is not good is not delicious 
To a well-governed and wise appetite. 

Com. Oh foolishness of men ! that lend their 
ears 
To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur. 
And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub, 
Praising the lean and sallow abstinence. 
Wherefore did nature pour her bounties forth 
With such a full and unwithdrawing hand. 
Covering the earth with odors, fruits, and 

flocks. 
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, 
But all to please, and sate the curious taste? 
And set to work miUions of spinning worms, 
That in their green shops weave the smooth- 
haired silk 
To deck her sons ; and that no corner might 
Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins 
She hutcht th' all- worshipped ore, and pre- 
cious gems 
To store her children with : if all the world 
Should in a pet of temperance feed on pulse, 
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but 

frieze, 
Th' all-giver would be unthanked, would be 

unpraised. 
Not half his riches know^n, and yet despised, 
And we should serve him as a grudging mas- 
ter. 
As a penurious niggard of his wealth, 
And live like nature's bastards, not her sons. 
Who would be quite surcharged with her own 

weight. 
And strangled with her waste fertility, 
Th' earth cumbered, and the winged air 

darkcd with phimos, 
The herds would over-multitude their lords, 



566 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



The sea o'erfraught would swell, and th' un- 
sought diamonds 
Would so imblaze the forehead of the deep, 
And so bestud with stars, that they below 
Would grow inured to light, and come at last 
To gaze upon the sun with shamele'^s browns. 
List, lady, be not coy, and be not cozened 
With that same vaunted name, virginity. 
Beauty is nature's coin, must not be hoarded. 
But must be current, and the good thereof 
■ Consists in mutual and partaken bliss. 
Unsavory in th' enjoyment of itself; 
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose 
It withers on the stalk with languished head. 
Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shewn 
In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities. 
Where most may wonder at the workman- 
ship; 
it is for homely features to keep home, 
They had their name thence; coarse com- 
plexions 
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply 
The sampler, and to tease the housewife's 

wool. 
What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that. 
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn ? 
There was another meaning in these gifts ; 
Think w^hat, and be advised, you are but. 
young yet. 
Lad. I had not thought to have unlocked 
my lips 
In this unhallow^ed air, but that this juggler 
Would think to charm my judgment, as mine 

eyes, 
Obtruding false rules pranked in reason's 

garb. 
I hate when vice can bolt her arguments, 
And virtue has no tongue to check her pride. 
Impostor, do not charge most innocent nature 
As if she w^ould her children should be riotous 
With her abundance ; she, good cateress, 
Means her provision only to the good. 
That live according to her sober laws, 
And holy dictate of spare temperance ; 
If every just man, that now pines with want, 
[lad but a moderate and beseeming share 
Of that which lewdly-pampered luxury 
Now heaps upon some few with vast excess, 
Nature's full blessings would be well dispensed 
In unsuperfluous even proportion. 
And she no whit encumbered with her store; 



And then the giver would be better thanked. 
His praise due paid; for swinish gluttony 
NTe'er looks to heaven amidst his gorgeoup 

feast. 
But with besotted base ingratitude 
Crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I 

go on? 
Or have I said enough ? To him that dares 
Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous 

words 
Against the sun-clad power of chastity, 
Fain w^ould I something say, yet to wliat 

end? 
Thou hast not ear, nor soul, to apprehend 
The sublime notion and high mystery 
That mu3t be uttered to unfold the sage 
And serious doctrine of virginity ; 
And thou art w^orthy that thou should'st not 

know 
More happiness than this thy present lot. 
Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric, 
That hath so well been taught her dazzling 

fence, 
Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced; 
Yet should I try, the uncontrolled worth 
Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt 

spirits 
To such a flame of sacred vehemence 
That dumb things would be moved to sym 

pathize. 
And the brute earth would lend her nerves, 

and shake. 
Till all thy magic structures, reared so high. 
Were shattered into heaps o'er thy false head. 

Com. She fables not; I feel that I do fear 
Her words set off by some superior power; 
And though not mortal, yet a cold shudder- 
ing dew 
Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove 
Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus, 
To some of Saturn's crew. I must dissemble, 
And try her yet more strongly. Come, no 

more ; 
This is mere moral babble, and direct 
Against the canon law^s of our foundation ; 
I must not suffer this; yet 'tis but the lees 
And settlings of a melancholy blood 
But this will cure all straight; one sip of this 
W^ill bathe the drooping spirits in delight 
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and 

taste — 



COMITS. 



5«>1 



The Brothers rush in with swords drawn^ 
wrest his glass out of Ms hand^ and hreaTc 
it against the ground ; his rout maTce sign 
of resistance^ hut are all driven in ; the 
attendant Spirit comes in, 

Si*i. What ! have you let the false enchanter 
'scape ? 
Oh ye mistook! ye should have snatched his 

wand 
And hound hira fast: without his rod re- 
versed, 
And backward mutters of dissevering power, 
We cannot free the lady that sits here 
In stony fetters fixed, and motionless. 
Yet stay I be not disturbed; now I bethink 

me, 
Some other means I have which may be used. 
Which once of Meliboeus old I learnt, 
Tlie soothest shepherd that e'er piped on 
plains. 
There is a gentle nymph not far from hence. 
That with moist curb sways the smooth Sev- 
ern stream; 
Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure ; 
Whilome she was the daughter of Locrine, 
That had the sceptre from his father Brute. 
She, guileless damsel, flying the mad pursuit 
Of her enraged stepdame, Guendolen, 
Commended her fair innocence to the flood. 
That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing 

course. 
The water-nymphs that in the bottom played, 
Held up their pearled wrists and took her in. 
Bearing her straight to aged iN'ereus' hall. 
Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank 

head, 
And gave her to his daughters to imbathe 
In nectared lavers strowed with asphodil. 
And through the porch and inlet of each 

sense 
Dropt in ambrosial oils till she revived. 
And underwent a quick immortal change, 
Wade goddess of the river ; still she retains 
Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve 
Visits the herds along the twilight meadows. 
Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs 
That the shrewd meddling elf delights to 

make. 
Which she with precious vialed liquors heals ; 
For which i,he shepherds, at their festivals. 



Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, 

And throw sweet garland wreaths into hei 

stream. 
Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils. 
And, as the old swain said, she can unlocV 
The clasping charm, and thaw the mumming 

spell. 
If she be right invoked in warbled song; 
For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift 
To aid a virgin, such as was herself. 
In hard besetting need ; this will I try. 
And add the power of some adjuring verse. 

SONG. 

Sabrina fair. 

Listen where thou art sitting 
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave. 

In twisted braids of lilies knitting 
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; 

Listen, for dear honor's sake. 

Goddess of the silver lake, 
Listen and save ! 
Listen, and appear to us 
In name of great Oceanus ; 
By th' earth-shaking Neptune's mace. 
And Tethy's grave majestic pace; 
By hoary ITereus' wrinkled look. 
And the Carpathian wizard's hook ; 
By scaly Triton's winding shell. 
And old sooth-saying Glaucus' spell; 
By Leucothea's lovely hands. 
And her son that rules the strands; 
By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet, 
And the songs of sirens sweet ; 
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb. 
And fair Ligea's golden comb. 
Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks, 
Sleeking her soft alluring locks; 
By all the nymphs that nightly dance 
Upon thy streams with wily glance — 
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 
From thy coral-paven bed, 
And bridle in tliy headlong wave, 
Till thou our summons answered have. 
Listen and save ! 

Sabrina rises^ attended by icatcr nymphs^ and 
sings. 

By the rushy-fringed bank, 
Where grows the willow and the osier dank. 



568 



FOEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



My sliding chariot stays, 
Thick set with agate, and the azure sheen 

Of tnrkois bhie, and emerald green, 
That in the channel strays ; 

Whilst from off the waters fleet 

Thus I set my printless feet 

O'er the cowslip's velvet head, 
That bends not as I tread ; 

Gentle swain, at thy request 
I am here. 
ISpi. Goadess dear. 
We implore thy powerful hand 
To undo the charmed band 
Of true virgin here distressed. 
Through the force and through the wile 
Of unblest enchanter vile. 

Sab. Shepherd, 't is my oflSce best 
To help ensnared chastity : 
Brightest lady, look on me ! 
Thus I sprinkle on thy breast 
Drops that from my fountain pure' 
I have kept of precious cure. 
Thrice upon thy fingers' tip, 
Thrice upon thy rubied lip ; 
"Next this marble venomed seat, 
Smeared with gums of glutinous heat, 
I touch with chaste palms moist and cold : 
Fow the spell hath lost his hold ; 
And I must haste ere morning hour 
To w^ait in Amphitrite's bower. 



ijABEixA descends^ and the Lady rises out of 
her seat. 



Spi. Virgin, daughter of Locrine, 
Sprung from old Anchises' line. 
May thy brimmed waves for this 
Their full tribute never miss 
From a thousand petty rills. 
That tumble down the snowy hills ; 
Summer drought, or singed air, 
Kever scorch thy tresses fair, 
Nor W'Ct October's torrent flood 
Thy molten crystal fill with mud ; 
May thy billows roll ashore 
The beryl, and the golden ore ; 
May thy lofty head be crowned 
With many a tower and terrace round, 
And liere and there thy banks upon 
With groves of myrrh and cinnamon. 



Come, lady! while heaven lends us grace, 
Let us fly this cursed place, 
Lest the sorcerer us entice 
With some other new device. 
[Not a w^aste or needless sound. 
Till we come to holier ground ; 
I shall be your faithful guide 
Through this gloomy covert wide ; 
And not many furlongs thence 
Is your father's residence. 
Where this night are met in state 
Many a friend to gratulate 
His wished presence, and beside 
All the swains that near abide, 
With jigs and rural dance resort. 
We shall catch them at their sport, 
And our sudden coming there 
Will double all their mirth and cheer ; 
Come, let us haste, the stars grow high, 
But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky. 

The scene changes^ presenting Ludlow town 
and the presidenVs castle; then come in 
country dancers ; after them the attendant 
Spieit, icith the two Brotiieks and th^ 
Lady. 



Spi. Back, shepherds, back ! enou£:h your 
play 
Till next sun-shine holiday ; 
Here be without duck or nod 
Other trippings to be trod — 
Of lighter toes, and such court guise 
As Mercury did first devise 
W^ith the mincing Dryades 
On the lawns, and on the leas. 

This second song presents them to their fathei 
and mother. 

Noble lord, and lady bright, 
I have brought ye new delight ; 
Here behold, so goodly grown. 
Three fair branches of your own ; 
Heaven hath timely tried their youth, 
Their faith, their patience, and their truth 
And sent them here through hard assays, 
With a crow^n of deathless praise. 
To triumpli in victorious dance 
O'er sensual folly and intemperance. 



HYLAS. 



569 



The dancer ended^ the Spirit epiloguizes, 

Spi. To the ocean now I fly, 
And those happy climes that lie 
Where day never shuts his eye, 
Up in the broad fields of the sky. 
There I suck the liquid air 
All amidst the gardens fair 
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three 
That sing about the golden tree. 
Along the crisped shades and bowers 
Revels the spruce and jocund spring; 
The Graces, and the rosy-bosomed Hours, 
Thither all their bounties bring ; 
There eternal summer dwells, 
And west- winds with musky wing 
About the cedared alleys fling 
Nard and cassia's balmy smells. 
Iris there with humid bow 
Waters the odorous banks that blow 
Flowers of more mingled hue 
Than her purfl^d scarf can shew, 
And drenches with Elysian dew 
(List, mortals, if your ears be true) 
Beds of hyacinth and roses. 
Where young Adonis oft reposes, 
Waxing well of his deep wound 
In slumber soft, and on the ground 
Sadly sits th' Assyrian queen ; 
But far above, in spangled sheen, 
Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced. 
Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranced, 
After her wandering labors long. 
Till free consent the gods among 
Make her his eternal bride, 
And from her fair unspotted side 
Two blissful twins are to be born, 
Youth and Joy ; so Jove hath sworn. 

But now my task is smoothly done ; 
I can fly, or I can run, 
Quickly to the green earth's end, 
Where tl>e bowed welkin low doth bend, 
And from thence can soar as soon 
To the corners of the moon. 

Mortals that would fallow me. 
Love virtue ; she alone is free ; 
She can teach ye how to climb 
Higher than the sphery chime ; 
Or, if virtue feeble were, 
iieaven itself would stoop to her. 

John Milton. 



HYLAS. 

Storm- WEAPJED Argo slept upon the water. 

No cloud was seen ; on blue and craggy ida 

The hot noon lay, and on the plain's enamel; 

Cool, in his bed, alone, the swift Scamander. 

" Why should 1 haste ? " said young and rosy 
Hylas : 

" The seas were rough, and long the way from 
Colchis. 

Beneath the snow-white awning slumbers Ja- 
son, 

Pillowed upon his tame Thessalian panther ; 

The shields are piled, the listless oars sus- 
pended 

On the black tliwarts, and all the hairy bonds- 
men 

Doze on the benches. They may wait for 
water. 

Till I have bathed in mountain-born Scaman- 
der." 

So said, unfilleting his purple chlamys. 

And putting down his urn, he stood a mo- 
ment, 

Breathing the faint, warm odor of the blos- 
soms 

That spangled thick the lovely Dardan mead- 
ows. 

Then, stooping lightly, loosened he his bus- 
kins. 

And felt with shrinking feet the crispy ver- 
dure ; 

Naked, save one light robe that from his 
shoulder 

Hung to his knee, the youthful flush reveal- 
ing 

Of warm, white limbs, half-nerved witli com- 
ing manhood. 

Yet fair and smooth with tenderness of beauty, 

Now to the river's sandy marge advancing, 

He dropped the robe, and raised his head ex 
ulting 

In the clear sunshine, that with beam em 
bracing 

Held him against Apollo's glowing bo&oia 

For sacred to Latona's son is beauty, 

Sacred is youth, the joy of youthful feeling. 

A joy indeed, a living joy, was Hylas, 



5T0 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



"Wlience Jove-begotten Ileracles, the mighty, 
To men though terrible, to him was gentle, 
Smoothing his rugged nature into laughter 
When the boy stole his club, or from his 

shoulders 
Dragged the huge paws of the IN'emasan lion. 

The thick, brown locks, tossed backward from 
his forehead. 

Fell soft about his temples ; manhood's blos- 
som 

Not yet had sprouted on his chin, but freshly 

Curved the fair cheek, and full the red lips' 
parting, 

Like a loose bow, that just has launched its 
arrow. 

His large blue eyes, with joy dilate and 
beamy. 

Were clear as the unshadowed Grecian heav- 
en ; 

Dewy and sleek his dimpled shoulders rounded 

To the white arms and whiter breast between 
them. 

Downward, the supple lines had less of soft- 
ness: 

His back was like a god's; his loins were 
moulded 

As if some pulse of power began to waken ; 

The springy fulness of his thighs, outswerv- 
inc 

Sloped to his knee, and, lightly dropping 
downward, 

Drew the curved lines that breathe, in rest, 
of motion. 

He saw his glorious limbs reversely mirrored 

In the still wave, and stretched his foot to 
press it 

On the smooth sole that answered at the sur- 
face: 

Alas! the shape dissolved in glimmering 
fragments. 

Then, timidly at first, he dipped, and catching 

Quick breath, with tingling shudder, as the 
waters 

Swirled round his thighs, and deeper, slowly 
deeper. 

Till on his breast the river's cheek was pil- 
lowed, 

And deeper still, till every shoreward ripple 

Talked in his ear, and like a cygnet's bosom 



His white, round shoulder shed the drippinp 

crystal. 
There, as he floated, with a rapturous motion. 
The lucid coolness folding close around him, 
The lily-cradling ripples murmured, " Hylas! ' 
He shook from off his ears the hyacinthine 
Curls, that had lain unwet upon the water. 
And still the ripples murmured, "Hylas 

Hylas!" 
He thought: "The voices are but ear-born 

music. 
Pan dwells not here, and Echo still is calling 
From some high cliff that tops a Thracian 

valley ; 
So long mine ears, on tumbling Hellespontus, 
Have heard the sea waves hammer Argo'a 

forehead, 
That I misdeem the fluting of this current 
For some lost nymph — " Again the murmur, 

"Hylas!" 
And with the sound a cold, smooth arm 

around him 
Slid like a wave, and down the clear, green 

darkness 
Glimmered on either side a shniing bosom — 
Glimmered, uprising slow ; and ever closer 
Wound the cold arms, till, climbing to hi 

shoulders, 
Their cheeks lay nestled, while the purple 

tangles. 
Their loose hair made, in silken mesh enwound 

him. 
Their eyes of clear, pale emerald then uplift- 
ing, 
They kissed his neck with lips of humid coral, 
And once again there came a murmur, " Hy- 
las! 
Oh, come with us ! Oh, follow where we 

wander 
Deep down beneath the green, translucent 

ceiling — 
Where on the sandy bed of old Scamander 
With cool white buds we braid our purple 

tresses, 
Lulled by the bubbling waves around us 

stealing ! 
Thou fair Greek boy, oh come with us ! Oh, 

follow 
Where thou no more shalt hear Propontis 

riot, 
But by our arms be lapped in endless quiet. 



HYLAS. 



571 



Within the glimmering caves of ocean hol- 
low ! 

We have no love ; alone, of all the immortals, 

We have no love. Oh, love us, we who press 
thee 

With faithful arms, though cold, — whose lips 
caress thee, — 

Who hold thy beauty prisoned! Love us, 
Hylas!" 

The sound dissolved in liquid murmurs, call- 
ing 

Still as it faded, " Come with us ! Oh follow I ^ 

The boy grew chill to feel their twining pres- 
sure 

Lock round his limbs, and bear him, vainly 
striving, 

Down from the noonday brightness. " Leave 
me, naiads! 

Leave me ! " he cried ; *^ the day to me is 
dearer 

Than all your caves deep-sphered in ocean's 
quiet. 

I am but mortal, seek but mortal pleasure : 

I would not change this flexile, warm exist- 
ence. 

Though swept by storms, and shocked by 
Jove's dread thunder. 

To bo a king beneath the dark -green waters." 

Still moaned the humid lips, between their 
kisses, 

" We have no love. Oh, love us, we who love 
thee ! " 

And came in answer, thus, the words of Hy- 
las: 

*' My love is mortal. For the Argive maid- 
ens 

r keep the kisses which your lips would 
ravish. 

Unlock your cold white arms — take from my 
shoulder 

The tangled swell of your bewildering tresses. 

Let me return : the wind comes down from 
Ida, 

Aiid soon the galley, stirring from her slum- 
ber. 

Will fret to ride where Pelion's twilight 
shadow 

Falls o'er the towers of Jason's sea-girt city, 

I am not yours — I cannot braid the lilies 

In your wet hair nor on your argent bosoms 



Close my drowsed eyes to hear your rippling 
voices. 

Hateful to me your sweet, cold, crystal be- 
ing,— 

Your world of watery quiet. Help, Apollo ! 

For I am thine : thy fire, thy beam, thy mu- 
sic. 

Dance in my heart and flood my sense with 
rapture ; 

The joy, the warmth and passion now awa- 
ken. 

Promised by thee, but erewhile calmly sleep- 
ing. 

Oh, leave me, naiads! loose your chill em- 
braces, 

Or I shall die, for mortal maidens pining." 

But still with unrelenting arms they bound 
him. 

And still, accordant, flowed their watery 
voices : 

''We have thee now — we hold thy beauty 
prisoned ; 

Oh, come with us beneath the emerald waters! 

We have no love ; we love thee, rosy Hylas. 

Oh, love us, who shall never more release 
thee — 

Love us, whose milky arms will be thy cra- 
dle 

Far down on the untroubled sands of ocean. 

Where now we bear thee, clasped in our em- 
braces." 

And slowly, slowly sank the amorous naiads 

The boy's blue eyes, upturned, looked through 
the water, 

Pleading for help; but heaven's immortal 
archer 

Was swathed in cloud. The ripples hid his 
forehead ; 

And last, the thick, bright curls a moment 
floated. 

So warm and silky that the stream upbore 
them. 

Closing reluctant, as he sank for ever. 

The sunset died behind the crags of Imbros. 
Argo was tugging at her chain ; for freshly 
Blew the swift breeze, and leaped the restlee*^ 

billows. 
The voice of Jason roused the dozing sailors, 
And up the mast was heaved the snow) 

canvas. 



'>T^ 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



But miglitj Heracles, the Jove-begotten, 
Unmindfal stood, beside the cool Scamander, 
Leaning upon his club. A purple chlamys 
Tossed o'er an urn was all that lay before 

him : 
And when he called, expectant. ^'Hylas! 

Ilylas ! " 

The empty echoes made liim answer — ^'Hy- 

las!" 

Bayaed Tatloe. 



RHCEOUS. 

God sends his teachers unto every age. 
To every clime, and every race of men, 
With revelations fitted to their growth 
And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of 

truth 
Into the selfish rule of one sole race. - 
Therefore each form of worship that hath 

swayed 
The life of man, and gi^en it to grasp 
The znaster-key of knowledge, reverence, 
Enfolds some germs of goodness and of right ; 
Else never had the eager soul, which loathes 
The slothful down of pampered ignorance. 
Found in it even a moment's fitful rest. 

There is an instinct in the human heart 
Which makes that all the fables it hath 

coined, 
To justify the reign of its belief 
And strengthen it by beauty's right divine. 
Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift, 
Which, like the hazel-twig, in faithful hands, 
Points surely to the hidden springs of truth. 
For, as in nature naught is made in vain, 
But all things have within their hull of use 
A wisdom and a meaning, which may speak 
Of spiritual secrets to the ear 
. Of spirit : so, in whatsoe'er the heart 
Hath fashioned for a solace to itself, 
To make its inspirations suit its creed, 
And from the niggard hands of falsehood 

wrin^c 
Its needful food of truth, there ever is 
A sympathy with nature, which reveals. 
Not less than her own works, pure gleams of 

light 



And earnest parables of inward lore. 
Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece,. 
As full of freedom, youth, and beauty stil' 
As the immortal freshness of that grace 
Carved for all ages on some Attic frieze. 

A youth named Rhoecus, wandering in the 

wood. 
Saw an old oak just trembling to its fall ; 
And, feeling pity of so fair a tree. 
He propped its gray trunk with admiring 

care, 
And with a thoughtless footstep loitered on. 
But, as he turned, he heard a voice behind 
That murmured " Rhoecus ! " — 'T was as if the 

leaves, 
Stirred by a passing breath, had murmured 

it; 
And, while he paused bewildered, yet again 
It murmured "Rhoecus!" softer than a 

breeze. 
He started and beheld with dizzy eyes 
What seemed the substance of a happy dream 
Stand there before him, spreading a warm 

glow 
Within the green glooms of the shadowy oak. 
It seemed a woman's shape, yet all too fair 
To be a woman, and with eyes too meek 
For any that were wont to mate with gods. 
All naked like a goddess stood she there. 
And like a goddess all too beautiful 
To feel the guilt-born earthliness of shame. 
''Rhoecus, I am the dryad of this tree — " 
Thus she began, dropping her low-toned 

words. 
Serene, and full, and clear, as drops of dew — 
''And with it I am doomed to live and die 
The rain and sunshine are my caterers, 
^or have I other bliss than simple life ; 
]^ow ask me what thou wilt, that I can give. 
And with a thankful joy it shall be thine." 

Then Rhoecus, with a flutter at the heart 
Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, bold, 
Answered : " What is there that can satisfy 
The endless craving of the soul but love ? 
Give me thy love, or but the hope of that 
Which must be evermore my spirit's goal." 
After a little pause she said again. 
But Avith a glimpse of sadness in her tone, 
" I give it, Rhoecus, though a perilous gift ; 



• 



RH(ECUS. 



573 



An liour before the sunset meet me here." 
And straightway there was nothing ne could 

see 
Bat the green glooms beneath the shadowy 

oak ; 
And not a sound came tc Ms straining ears 
But the low trickling rustle of the leaves, 
And, far away upon an emerald slope, 
The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe. 

Now, in those days of simpleness and faith. 
Men did not think that happy things were 

dreams 
Because they overstepped the narrow bourne 
Of likelihood, but reverently deemed 
Nothing too wondrous or too beautifUi. 
To bo the guerdon of a daring heart. 
Bo Rhoecus made no doubt that he was blest ; 
And all along unto the city's gate 
Earth seemed to spring beneath him as he 

walked ; 
r?ie clear, broad sky looked bluer than its 

wont. 
And he could scarce believe he had not 

wings — 
Buch sunshine seemed to glitter through his 

veins 
Instead of blood, so light he felt and strange. 

Young Rhoecus had a faithful heart enough, 
But one that in the present dwelt too much, 
And, taking with blithe welcome whatsoe'er 
Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in 

that. 
Like the contented peasant of a vale. 
Deemed it the world, and never looked be- 
yond. 
So, haply meeting in the afternoon 
Some comrades who were playing at the dice, 
He joined them and forgot all else beside. 

The dice were rattling at the merriest, 
And Rhoecus, who had met but sorry luck, 
Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw. 
When through the room there hummed a yel- 
low bee 
That buzzed about his ear with down-dropped 

legs, 
As if to Yifuht. And Rhoecus laughed and 
said. 



Feeling how red and flushed he was with 

loss, 
" By Yenus ! does he take me for a rose ? " 
And brushed him oif with rough, impatient 

hand. 
But still the bee came back, and thrice again 
Rhoecus did beat him off with growing wrath. 
Then through the window flew the wounded 

bee ; 
And Rhoecus, tracking him with angry eyes, 
Saw a sharp mountain-peak of Thessaly 
Against the red disc of the setting sun, — 
And instantly the blood sank from his heart, 
As if its very walls had caved away. 
Without a word he turned, and rushing forth, 
Ran madly through the city and the gate, 
And o'er the plain, which now the woods 

long shade. 
By the low sun thrown forward broad and 

dim. 
Darkened well-nigh unto the city's wall. 

Quite spent and out of breath, he reached 

the tree ; 
And, hstening fearfully, he heard once more 
The low voice murmur ^' Rhoecus ! " close at 

hand— ^ 
Whereat he looked around him, but could see 
Nought but the deepening glooms beneath 

the oak. 
Then sighed the voice, " 0, Rhoecus ! never 

more 
Shalt thou behold me, or by day or night — 
Me, who would fain have blest thee with a 

love 
More ripe and bounteous than ever yet 
Filled up with nectar any mortal heart; 
But thou didst scorn my humble messenger. 
And sent'st him back to me with bruised 

wings. 
We spirits only show to gentle eyes — 
We ever ask an undivided love ; 
And he who scorns the least of nature's 

works 
Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. 
Farewell! for thou canst never see me ipore." 

Then Rhoecus beat his breast, and groaned 

aloud, 
And cried, ''Be pitiful! forgive me yet 
This once, and I shall never need it more! " 



574 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



" Alas ! " the voice returned, " 't is thou art 

blind, 
Not I unmerciful ; I can forgive, 
But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes ; 
Only the soul hath power o'er itself." 
With that again there murmured "Never- 
more ! " 
And Khoecus after heard no other sound, 
Except the rattling of the oak's crisp leaves. 
Like the long surf upon a distant shore, 
Raking the sea- worn pebbles up and down. 
The night had gathered round him ; o'er the 

plain 
The city sparkled with its thousand lights, 
And sounds of revel fell upon his ear 
Harshly and like a curse ; above, the sky, 
With all its bright sublimity of stars. 
Deepened, and on his forehead smote the 

breeze ; 
Beauty was all around him, and delight; 
But from that eve he was alone on earth. 

James Efssell Lowell. 



THE MIDNIGHT REVIEW. 

At midnight from his grave 
The drummer woke and rose, 

And beating loud the drum. 
Forth on his errand goes. 

Stirred by his fleshless arms. 
The drumsticks rise and fall ; 

He beats the loud retreat, 
Reveille and roll-call. 

So strangely rolls that drum, 
So deep it echoes round. 

Old soldiers in their graves 
To life start at the sound : 

Both they in farthest north, 
Stiff in the ice that lay, 

And they who warm repose 
Beneath Italian clay ; 

Below the mud of Nile, 
And 'neath Arabian sand, 

Their burial-place they quit. 
And soon to arms they stand. 



And at midnight from his grave 

The trumpeter arose. 
And, mounted on his horse, 

A loud, shrill blast he blows. 

On airy coursers then 

The cavalry are seen — 
Old squadrons, erst renowned — 

Gory and gashed, I ween. 

Beneath the casque their skulls 
Smile grim ; and proud their air, 

As in their bony hands 

Their long, sharp swords they biire. 

At midnight from his tomb 
The chief awoke and rose. 

And, followed by his staff. 
With slow steps on he goes. 

A little hat he wears, 
A coat quite plain wears he ; 

A little sword, for arms. 
At his left side hangs free. 

O'er the vast plain the moon 

A paly lustre threw ; 
The man with the little hat 

The troops goes to review. 

The ranks present their arms — 
Deep rolls the drum the while ; 

Recovering then, the troops 
Before the chief detile. 

Captains and generals round. 
In circles formed, appear ; 

The chief to the first a word 
Now whispers in his ear. 

The word goes round the ranks. 

Resounds along the line ; 
That word they give is — France! 

The answer — St. HeUne ! 

'T is there, at midnight hour. 
The grand review, they say, 

Is by dead Caesar held 
In the C h amps-Ely se es ! 

Joseph Cueistiax vow Zxdtjts. (German., 

inonymous Translation 



• 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



575 



KfME OF THE ANCIENT MAK- 
INER. 

IN SEVEN PARTS 



An an- 
cient mar- 
iner meet- 
eth three 
gallants 
bidden to 
a wedding 
feast, and 
detaineth 
one. 



Tne wed- 
ding- 
guest is 
epell- 
Dound by 
the eye of 
the old 
6ca-faring 
man, and 
constrain- 
ed to hear 
bis tale. 



It is an ancient mariner. 

And be stoppeth one of three : 

" By thy long gray beard and glitter- 

iDg eye, 
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ? 

The bridegroom's doors are opened 

wide, 
And I am next of kin ; 
The guests are met, the feast is set — 
May'st hear the merry din.*' 

He holds him with his skinny hand : 
" There was a ship," quoth he. 
"Hold off! unhand me, gray-beard 

loon ! " — 
Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 

He holds him with his glittering 

eye — 
The wedding-guest stood still; 
He listens like a three years' child : 
The mariner hath his will. 

The wedding-guest sat on a stone — 
He cannot choose but hear ; 
And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyed mariner. 

"The ship was cheered, the harbor 

cleared ; 
Merrily did we drop 
Below the kirk, below the hill, 
Below the light-house top. 



rhe mari- 
ner tells 
how the 
ahip sailed 
southward 
with a 
good wind 
and fair 
weather, 
till it 
eachpd 
ho line. 



The sun came up upon the left, 

Out of the sea came he ; 

And lie shone bright, and on 

right 
Went down into the sea ; 



the 



Higher and higher every day, 
Till over the mast at noon — " 
The wedding-guest here beat his 

breast, 
For b.e heard the loud bassoon. 



The bride hath paced into the hall — The wed- 
Ked as a rose is she ; 



uest 
eareth 



Nodding their heads before her goes the bridal 
The merry minstrelsy. 



The 



he beat 



music ; 
but the 
mariner 
. continu- 
hlS eth hia 
tale. 



wedding-guest 

breast. 

Yet he cannot choose but hear ; 
And thus spake on that ancient man. 
The bright-eyed mariner : 

'' And now the storm-blast came, and The ship 

, drawn by 

he a storm to 

Was tyrannous and strong ; south^ ^ 

He struck with his o'ertaking wings, P^^®- 
And chased us south along. 

With sloping masts and dipping 

prow — 
As who pursued with yell and blow 
Still treads the shadow of his foe. 
And forward bends his head— 
The ship drove fast ; loud roared the 

blast. 
And southward aye we fled. 

And now there came both mist and 

snow. 
And it grew wondrous cold ; 
And ice, mast-high, came floating by. 
As green as emerald. 



And through the drifts the snowy The haul 

-..ryy of Icc, and 

CllIIS of fearful 

Did send a dismal sheen ; wh"re\o 



was 
to be seeiL 



Nor shapes of men nor beasts we 1\\*"^ 

^ thmg 

ken — 

The ice was all between. 

The ice w^as here, the ice was there. 

The ice was all around ; 

It cracked and growled, and roared 

and howled. 
Like noises in a swound I 



At length did cross an albatross — 
Thorougli the fog it came ; 
As if it had been a Cliristian soul, 
Wg hailed it in God's name. 



Till a 
Croat sea- 
bird, call- 
ed the al 
batross, 
came 
through 
the snow 
fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality. 



576 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



And lo ! 

the alba- 
tross 

provetli a 
bird of 
good 

omen, and 
followeth 
the ship as 
it return- 
ed north- 
ward 
through 
fog and 
floating 
ice. 



It ate the food it ne'er had eat, 
And round and round it flew. 
The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; 
The helmsman steered us through ! 

And a good south wind sprang up 

behind ; 
The albatross did follow, 
And every day, for food or play, 
Came to the mariners' hollo ! 

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 
It perched for vespers nine ; 
Whiles all the night, through fog- 
smoke white, 
Glimmered the white moon-shine." 



The an- " God save thee, ancient marmer ! 

cient mar- _ -. r. t , i i i 

inerin- From the fiends that plague thee 

hospitably flmc' 

killeth the ^"^^ • — 



pious bird ^Yi^y look'st thou SO ? 

of good 

omen. Cross-bow 

I shot the albatross." 



PAET II. 



7? 



(4 



With my 



" The sun now rose upon the right — 
Out of the sea came he, 
Still hid in mist, and on the left 
Went down into the sea. 

And the good south wind still blew 

behind ; 
But no sweet bird did follow, 
l^or any day for food or play 
Came to the mariners' hollo. 



And I had done a hellish thing. 
And it would work 'em woe; 
For all averred I had killed the bird 
Tliat made the breeze to blow : 

said they, the bird to 



H'lS ship- 
mates 
cry out 

against 
the an- 
cient mar- 
iner, for 

killing the Ah wretch ! 
bird of , 

good luck. slay. 

That made the breeze to blow ! 



But when Xor dim nor red, like God's own 

the fog ' 

cleared head 

j^iistify^ The glorious sun uprist; 

and 'bus' Then all averred I had killed the bird 

J^*^^ That brought the fog and mist : 

selves ac- T was right, said tliev, such birds to 

comnliceR , 

in the slay, 

crime. rj.^^^^ ^^^^ ^j^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^.^^^ 



The fair breeze blew, the white foam 

flew. 
The furrow followed free ; 
We were the first that ever burst 
Into that silent sea. 

en till it reached the line. 



The fair 
breeze 
continues 
the ship 
enters th«> 
Pacific 
Ocean, 
and sails 
north- 
ward, ev- 



hath been 

suddenly 

becalmed 



Down dropt the breeze, the sails Tiie ship 

dropt down — 
'T was sad as sad could be ; 
And we did speak only to breal? 
The silence of the sea. 

All in a hot and copper sky 
The bloody sun, at noon, 
Right up above the mast did stand, 
Xo bigger than the moon. 

Day after day, day after day, 
We stuck — nor breath nor motion ; 
As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 



Water, water everywhere. 
And all the boards did shrink ; 
Water, water eveiywhere, 
NTor any drop to drink. 

The very deep did rot ; Christ ! 

That ever this should be ! 

Yea, slimy things did crawl with 

legs 
Upon the slimy sea ! 

About, about, in reel and rout. 
The death-fires danced at niglit ; 
The water, like a witch's oils, 
Burnt green, and blue and white. 



And the 

albatross 
Ixegics +.0 
be a-'^^u^r 
ed. 



And some in dreams assured were 
Of the spirit that plagued us so ; 



A spirit 
had fol- 
loAved 

Nine fathom deep he had followed one^Ftiie 

,,a invisible 

"^ iLbabit- 

From the land of mist and snow. ^"ts of thk 

planet, 
neiiher 
departed 
souls nor angels ; concerning whom the learned Jew, »To 
sephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael 
Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous 
and there is no climate or element without one or mora 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



511 



And every tongue, thj/ough utter 

drought, 
Was withered at the root ; 
We could not speak, no more than if 
We had heen choked with soot. 



Die sMp- 
niates, in 
their sore 
distress, 
would fain 
throw the 
whole 
puilt on 
the an- 
cient ma- 
riner: In 
sign 

whereof 
they hang 
the dead 
sea-bird 
round his 
neck. 



Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks 
Had I from old and young ! 
Instead of the cross the albatross 
About my neck was hung. 



PAKT III. 



The an- 
cient ma- 
riner be- 
holdeth a 
bign in the 
clement 
:vftir oflF. 



At its 
nearer ap- 
proach it 
seemeth 
him to be 
a ship ; 
and at a 
dear ran- 
som he 
freeth his 
speech 
from the 
bonds of 
Uilrst 



A flash ot 
oy. 



Theee passed a weary time. Each 

throat 

Was parched, and glazed each eye — 
A weary time ! a weary time ! 
How glazed each weary eye ! — 
When, looking westward, I beheld 
A something in the sky. 

At first it seemed a little speck, 

And then it seemed a mist; 

It moved and moved, and took at 

last 
A certain shape, I wist — 

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! 
And still it neared and neai-ed ; 
As if it dodged a water-sprite, 
It plunged and tacked and veered. 

With throats unslaked, with black 

lips baked, 
We could nor laugh nor wail ; 
Through utter drought all dumb vre 

stood I 
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood. 
And cried, A sail ! a sail ! 

With throats unslaked, with black 

lips baked. 
Agape they heard me call ; 
Gramercy I they for joy did grui. 
And all at once their breath >drew 

in, 
As they were drinking all. 
77 



See ! see I I cried, she tacks no 

more! 
Hither to work us weal — 
Without a breeze, without a tide, 
She steadies with upright keel ! 

The western wave was all a-liame ; 
The day was well nigh done ; 
Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad bright sun, 
When that strange shape drove sud- 
denly 
Betwixt us and the sun. 



And hor- 
ror fol- 
lows. F(:I 

can it be a 

ship that 

comes 

onward 

without 

wind or 

tide? 



And straight the 
with bars. 



sun was flecked its^.^'^ 
eth him 
but tho 

(Heaven's mother send us grace !) of a sMp* 
As if through a dungeon-grate he 

peered 
With broad and burning face. 

Alas I thought I — and my heart beat 

loud — 
How fast she nears and nears ! 
Are those her sails that glance in the 

sun. 
Like restless gossameres ? 

xire those her ribs through which A^<iits 

° ribs are 

the sun seen as 

Did peer, as through a grate ? the face oi 

And is that woman all her crew ? th^V^un. 
Is that a death ? and are there two ? Tiie spec- 

tre-wo- 

Is death that woman's mate ? man and 

her death- 
mate, and 
no other on board the skeleton ship. 

Her lips were red, her looks were 

free, 
Her locks were yellow as gold ; J'^^lik^'** 

Her skin was as white as leprosy : crew i 
The night-mare, Life-in-Death, was 

she, 
Who thicks man's blood with cold. 



The naked hulk alongside came, Death an«' 
And the twain wero casting dice : Death ' 
* The game is done I 've won ! I 've Jj^J^^^ ^^^^ 

won ! ' t^^<^ ship*8 

^ , , , -I I . crew, and 

Quoth she, and whistles thrice. she (the 

latter) 
winnfth 
tho ancient mariner. 



678 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



No twi- 
light -with- 
in the 
courts of 
the sun. 



The sun's rim dips, the stars rush 

out, 
At one stride comes the dark ; 
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, 
Off shot the spectre bark. 



At the ris- ^e listeued, and looked sideways 

ing of the ' 

moon, up ,* 

Fear at my heart, as at a cup, 

My life-blood seemed to sip ; 

The stars were dim, and thick the 

night — 
The steersman's face by his lamp 

gleamed white ; 
From the sails the dew did drip — 
Till clomb above the eastern bar 
The horned moon, with one bright 

star 
Within the nether tip. 

One after One after one, by the star-dogged 
anothor 

moon. 

Too quick for groan or sigh, 

Each turned his face with & ghastly 

pang. 

And cursed me with his eye. 

His ship- Four times fifty living men, 
dropdown (And I heard nor sigh nor groan!) 
dead. ^ith heavy thump, a lifeless lump, 
They dropped d5>wn one by one. 



But Life- The souls did from their bodies fly, — 
begins her They fled to bliss or woe ! 
the^ an^ And every soul it passed me by, 
cient mar- Like the whizz of mv cross-bow ! " 

Iner. 



PAET IV. 



The wed- " I FEAR thee, ancient mariner ! 
fiarlfh "'^ I fear thy skinny hand ! 

that a 

spirit is 

talking to brown, 

As is the ribbed sea-sand. 



And thou art ]ong, and lank, and 



I fear thee and thy glittering eye. 

And thy skinny hand so brown." — 

But the " Fear not, fear not, thou wedding- 
ancient 

mariner guest I 

nim^of his This body dropt not down. 

bodily life, 

and proceedeth to relate his horrible penance. 



Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
Alone on a wid^, wide sea ! 
And never a saint took pity on 
My soul in agony. 

The many men, so beautiful ! 

And they all dead did lie ; 

And a thousand thousai.1 slimy 

things 
Lived on — and so did I. 

I looked upon the rotting sea, 
And drew my eyes away ; 
I looked upon the rotting deck, 
And there the dead men lay. 

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; 
But or ever a prayer had gusht 
A wicked whisper came, and made 
My heart as dry as dust. 



I closed my lids, and kept them close, 

And the balls like pulses beat ; 

For the sky and the sea and the sea 

and the sky 
Lay like a load on my weary eye-, 
And the dead were at my feet. 



He de- 
spise tli 
the creft' 
tures of 
the calni< 



And en- 
vied that 
they 
should 
live, and 



I 



so many 
lie dead. 



The 



cold sweat melted from their But the 

1 . 1 curse liv- 

limbS — eth for 

IlTor rot nor reek did they ; ey?of the 

The look with which they looked on <iead men. 

me 
Had never passed away. 

An orphan's curse would drag to hell 
A spirit from on high ; 
But oh ! more horrible than that 
Is the curse in a dead man's eye ! 
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that 

curse — 
And yet I could not die. 



The moving moon went up the sky, in his 
AT 1 j'j 1 -J lonelinefi* 

And nowhere did abide ; and fixed 

Softly she was going up, ^S^e^h 

towards 
the jour- 
neying 

moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move on- 
ward ; and every where the blue sky belongs to them, 
and is their appointed rest, and their native country, and 
their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, 
as lords that are certainly expected ; and yet there is a 
silent joy at their arrival 



And a star or two beside — 



I 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



579 



Her beams bemocked the sultry 

main, 
Like April hoar-frost spread ; 
Bat where the ship's huge shadow 

lay 
The charmed water burnt alway, 
A still and awful red. 



By the Beyond the shadow of the ship 

the moon i watched the water-snakes ; 

etl God's" They moved in tracks of shining 

creatures TirTiUA' 

of the wmte, 

great And when they reared, the elfish 

light 

Fell off in hoary flakes. 



Within the shadow of the ship 
I watched their rich attire — 
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black. 
They coiled and swam; and every 

track 
Was a flash of golden fire. 



Oh happy living things ! no tongue 



Their 
beauty 

and their Their beauty might declare ; 
pp ness. ^ spring Qf Iqyq gushed from my 

heart, 

He bless- And I blessed them unaware — 

eth them ^ , . , . , . 

in his Sure my kmd samt tooK pity on me, 

^^^ ■ And I blessed them unaware. 



The spel. The selfsame moment I could pray : 
beginsto . ,. , . ^ -^ ' 

break. And from my neck so free 

The albatross fell off, and sanl 

Like lead into the sea. 



PAET V. 

Oh sleep ! it is a gentle thing, 
Beloved from pole to pole ! 
To Mary Queen the praise be given ! 
She sent the gentle sleep from hea- 
ven 
That slid into my soul. 



Bv grace The Silly buckets on the deck, 
of the holy ^, ^. 1 1 . ;, 

Mother, That had so long remained, 

Me^nt^mar- ^ dreamt that they were filled with 

Iner is re- Aq^ . 

freshed "®^ ' 

tt-ith rain. And when I awoke, it "ained. 



He hear- 
eth sounds 
and seeth 
strange 
sights and 
commo- 
tions in 
the sky 
and the 
element 



My lips were wet, my throat was 

cold. 
My garments all were dank ; 
Sure I had drunken in my dreams, 
And still my body drank. 

I moved, and could not feel my limbs ; 
I was so light — almost 
I thought that I had died in s]<>ep. 
And was a blessed ghost. 

And soon I heard a roaring wind — 
It did not come anear ; 
But with its sound it shook the sails, 
That were so thin and sere. 

The upper air burst into life ; 
And a hundred fire-flags sheen. 
To and fro they were hurried about ; 
And to and fro, and in and out, 
The wan stars danced between. 

And the coming wind did roar more 

loud, 
And the sails did sigh like sedge ; 
And the rain poured down from one 

black cloud — 
The moon was at its edge. 

The thick black cloud was cleft, ana 

still 
The moon was at its side ; 
Like waters shot from some high 

crag. 
The lightning fell with never a jag — 
A river steep and wide. 



The loud wind never reached tliCTheboa- 

ship, ISpl'"" 

Yet now the ship moved on ! P^*-'^: ^^f 

^ inspired, 

Beneath the lightning and the moon nnd the 
The dead men gave a groan. movea on 



They groaned, they stirred, they all 

uprose — 
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes ; 
It had been strange, even in a dream, 
To have seen those dead men rise. 



580 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



But not 

by the 
souls of 
the men, 
nor by de- 
mons of 
earth or 
middle air, 
but by a 



troop of 
angelic 
spirits, 
sent down 
by the in- 
vocation 
cfthe 
guardian 
iaiiit. 



The helmsman steered, the ship 

moved on ; 
Yet never a breeze up blew ; 
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, 
"Where they were wont to do ; 
They raised their limbs like lifeless 

tools — 
We were a ghastly crew. 

The body of my brother's son 
Stood by me, knee to knee; 
The body and I pulled at one rope. 
But he said naught to me." 

" I fear thee, ancient mariner ! " 
•'Be calm, thou wedding-guest! 
. 'T was not those souls that fled in 

pain. 
Which to their corses came again, 
But a troop of spirits blest ; 
For when it dawned they dropped 

their arms, 
And clustered round the mast ; 
Sweet sounds rose slowly through 

their mouths, 
And from their bodies passed. 

Around, around flew each sweet 

sound, 
Then darted to the sun; 
Slowly the sounds came back again — 
Now mixed, now one by one. 

Sometimes, a-dropping from the sky, 
I heard the sky-lark sing ; 
Sometimes all little birds that are — 
How they seemed to fill the sea and 

air 
With their sweet jargoning! 

And now 't was like all instruments, 
NTow like a lonely flute ; 
And now it is an angel's song, 
That makes the heavens be mute. 

It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 
A pleasant noise till noon — 
A noise like of a hidden brook 
In the leafy month of June, 
That to the sleeping woods all night 
Singeth a quiet tune. 



Till noon we quietly sailed on. 
Yet never a breeze did breathe ; 
Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 
Moved onward from beneath 

Under the keel, nine fathom deep. 
From the land of mist and snow 
The spirit slid ; and it was he 
That made the ship to go. 
The sails at noon left off their tune. 
And the ship stood still also. 

The sun, right up above the mast. 
Had fixed her to the ocean ; 
But in a minute she 'gan stir. 
With a short uneasy motion — 
Backwards and forwards half her 

length. 
With a short uneasy motion. 

Then like a pawing horse let go, 
She made a sudden bound — 
It flung the blood into my head, 
And I fell down in a swound. 



The lone 
some spi- j 
rit from | 
the south- ! 
pole car- 
ries on the 
ship as fai , 
as the line J 
in obedi- 
ence to 
the angel- | 
ic troop ; 
but still 
requireth 
vengeance 



How long in that same fit I lay 
I have not to declare ; 
But ere my living life returned 
I heard, and in my soul discerned. 
Two voices in the air : 

'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the 

man? 
By him who died on cross. 
With his cruel bow he laid full low 
The harmless albatross ! 

The spirit who bideth by himself 

In the land of mist and snow, 

He loved the bird that loved the 

man 
Who shot him with his bow.' 

The other was a softer voice, 

As soft as honey-dew : 

Quoth he, 'The man hath penance 

done, 
And penance more will do.' 



The poller J 
spirit's 
fellow de 
mons, the ! 
invisible 
inhabi- 
tants of 
the ele- 
ment, take 
part in his 
wrong ; 
and two of _ 
them re- 
late, one 
to the 
other, that | 
penance, 
long and 
heavy for 
the an- 
cient mar- 
iner, hath 
been ac- 
corded to 
the polar 
spirit, who 
returneth 
southward 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



58] 



The mari- 
ner hath 
been cast 
Into a 
trance ; for 
the an- 
gelic pow- 
er causeth 
Uie vessel 
to drive 
northward 
faster than 
human 
life could 
endure. 



The su- 
pernatural 
notion is 
•etarded ; 
;he mar- 
ner 

'iwakes, 
md his 
>enance 
•jegins 
Jiew» 



PART n. 

FIEST rOICE. 

' But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 
Thy soft response renewing — 
What makes that ship drive on so 

fast? 
What is the ocean doing ? ' 

SECOND VOICE. 

' StiL as a slave before his lord, 
The ocean hath no blast ; 
His great bright eje most silently 
Up to the moon is cast — 

If he may knovr which way to go ; 
For she guides him smooth or grim. 
See, brother, see ! how graciously 
She looketh down on him.' 

FIRST VOICE, 

^ But why drives on that ship so fast, 
Without or wave or wind ? ' 

SECOND VOICE. 

^ The air is cut away before, 
And closes from behind. 

Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more 

high! 
Or we shall be belated ; 
For slow and slow that ship will go. 
When the mariner's trance is abated.' 

I woke, and we were sailing on 

As in a gentle weather ; 

'T was night, calm night — the moon 

was high ; 
The dead men stood together. 

All stood together on the deck. 
For a charnel-dungeon fitter ; 
All fixed on me their stony eyes. 
That in the moon did fitter 



And now this speU was snapt : once The cursp 

is finalh 
more expiated. 

I viewed the ocean green. 

And looked far forth, yet little saw 

Of what had else been seen — 

Like one that on a lonesome road 

Doth walk in fear and dread, 

And, having once turned round, 

walks on, 
And turns no more his head ; 
Because he knows a frightful fiend 
Doth close behind him tread. 

But soon there breathed a wind on 

me, 
]^or sound nor motion made ; 
Its path was not upon the sea, 
In ripple or in shade. 

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek. 
Like a meadow-gale of spring — 
It mingled strangely with my fears. 
Yet it felt like a welcoming. 

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 
Yet she sailed softly too ; 
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 
On me alone it blew. 



The pang, the curse, with which they 

died, 
Had never passed away ; 
I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 
Nor turn them up to pray. 



Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed 
The light-house top I see ? 
Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ? 
Is this mine own countree ? 

We drifted o'er the harbor-bar, 
And I with sobs did pray — 
Oh let me be awake, ray God ! 
Or let me sleep alwaj^ 

The harbor-bay was clear as glass. 
So smoothly it was strewn ! 
And on the bay the moonlight lay, 
And the sliadow of tlie moon. 



A.nd the 

ancient 

mariner 

beholdett 

his native 

country. 



The rock shone bright, the kirk no 

loss 
That stands above the rock ; 
The moonlight steeped in siloulness 
The steady weathercock. 



>82 



POEMS OF THE IMAGIIS ATIOK. 



And the bay was wliite with silent 

light 

Till, rising from the same, 

The angel- Full many shapes, that shadows 

. c spirits 

.eavethe were, 

^es^ ^^^' III crimson colors came. 

A.nd up- A little distance from the prow 
fheir'?wr. Those crimson shadows Avere ; 
forms of I turned my eyes upon the deck — 
'^^'" O Christ ! what saw I there ! 

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat; 
And, by the holy rood ! 
A man all light, a seraph-man, 
On every corse there stood. 

This seraph-band, each waved his 

hand — 
It was a heavenly sight ! 
They stood as signals to the land, 
Each one a lovely light; 

This seraph-band, each waved his 

hand ; 
No voice did they impart — 
No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank 
Like music on my heart. 

But soon I heard the dash of oars, 
I heard the pilot's cheer ; 
My head was turned perforce away, 
And I saw a boat appear. 

The pilot and the pilot's boy, 
I heard them coming fast ; 
Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy 
The dead men could not blast. 

I saw a third— I heard his voice ; 
It is the hermit good ! 
He singeth loud his godly hymn- 
That he makes in the wood ; 
He'll shrieve my soul— he'll wash 

away 
The albatross's blood. 

PART VII. 

Ihe h»)r- Tnis hermit good lives in that wood 
i?^^ ^^"^ Which slopes down to the sea. 

How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 
Ho loves to talk with marineres 
That come from a far countree. 



He kneels at morn, and noon, and 

eve — 
He hath a cushion plump ; 
It is the moss that wholly hides 
The rotted old oak-stump. 

The skiff-boat neared— I heard them 

talk: 
' Why, this is strange, I trow ! 
Where are those lights, so many and 

fair, 
That signal made but now ? ' 



'Strange, by my faith 1' the hermit Approacb 
said — ship with 

'And they answered not our cheer ! ^^^ ^^ 

The planks looked warped! and see 
those sails, 

How thin they are and sere ! 

I never saw aught like to them, 

Unless perchance it were 

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 

My forest-brook along, 

When the ivy-tod is heavy with 

snow. 
And the owlet whoops to the woif 

below. 
That eats the she-wolf's young.' 

' Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look,' 
The pilot made reply— 
'1 am a-feared'— Tush on, push on ! ' 
Said the hermit cheerily. 

The boat came closer to the ship, 
But I nor spake nor stirred ; 
The boat came close beneath tne ship. 
And straight a sound was heard : 



The ship 
suddenly 
sinkoth. 



Under the water it rumbled on. 
Still louder and more dread; 
It reached the ship, it split the bay— 
The ship went down like lead. 

Stunned by that loud and ^^eadfulTho^an^^ 

sound, i»er Is 

' ^ , saved in 

Which sky and ocean smote, the piloVf 

Like one that hath been seven days ^<>»*- 

drowned 

My body lay afloat ; 

But, swift as dreams, myself I found 

Within the pilot's boat. 



RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



583 



The an- 
cient mar- 
iner ear- 
nestly en- 
treateth 
the her- 
mit to 
Bhrieve 
him; and 
the pen- 
ance of life 
falls on 
him, 



And ever 
ftnd anon 
through- 
out his fu- 
ture life 
im agony 
oonstrain- 
<^tb him 
to trr.vel 
from land 
V) land. 



Upon the whirl where sank the ship 
The boat span round and round ; 
And all was still, save that the hill 
Was telling of the sound. 

1 moved my lips — the pilot shrieked 
And fell down in a fit ; 
The holy hermit raised his eyes, 
And prayed where he did sit. 

I took tbe oars ; the pilot's boy, 

Who now doth crazy go, 

Laughed loud and long ; and all the 

while 
His eyes w^ent to and fro : 

* Ha I ha ! ' quoth he, ' full plain I 

see, 
The devil knows how to row.' 

And now, all in my own countree, 

I stood on the firm land I 

The hermit stepped forth from the 

boat, 
And scarcely he could stand. 

* Oh shrieve me, shrieve me, holy 
man ! ' — 

The hermit crossed his brow : 

*Say quick,' quoth he, *I bid thee 

say— 
What manner of man art thou ? ' 

Forthwith this frame of mine was 

wrenched 
With a woful agony, 
Which forced me to begin my tale — 
And then it left me free. 

Since then, at an uncertain hour. 
That agony returns ; 
" And till my ghastly tale is told 
This heart within me burns. 

I pass, like night, from land to land ; 
I have strange power of speech ; 
That moment that his face I see 
I know the man that must hear me — 
To him my tale I teach. 



What loud uproar bursts from that 

door! 
The wedding-guests are there ; 
But in the garden-bower the bride 
And bride-maids singing are ; 
And hark the little vesper bell, 
Which biddeth me to prayer ! 

O wedding-guest! this soul hath 

been 
Alone on a wide, wide sea — 
So lonely 't was, that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 

Ob sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
'T is sweeter far to me, 
To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodly company ! — 

To walk together to the kirk. 

And all together pray, 

While each to his great Father 

bends — 
Old men, and babes, and loving 

friends. 
And youths and maidens gay ! 

Farewell I farewell ! but this I tell 
To thee, thou wedding-guest ! 
He prayeth well who loveth well 
Both man and bird and beast. 

He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things both great and small ; 
For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all." 

The mariner, whose eye is bright, 

Whose beard with age is hoar, 

Is gone. And now the wedding 

guest 
Turned from the bridegroom's door 



He went like one that hath been 

stunned, 
And is of sense forlorn ; 
A sadder and a wiser man 
He rose the morrow morn. 

Samuel Taylor Colbiudqc 



And to 
teach by 
liis own 
example, 
love, and 
reverence 
to all 
thinsrs, 
that^God 
made and 
lovefh 



384 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



KUBLA KHAK 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
A stately pleasure-dome decree 
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran, 
Through caverns measureless to man, 
Down to a sunless sea. 
So twice five miles of fertile ground 
With walls and towers were girdled round ; 
And there were gardens, bright with sinuous 

rills, 
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing 

tree ; 
And here were forests ancient as the hills, 
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm, which 

slanted 
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! 
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted 
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
By woman wailing for her demon-lover ! 
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil 

seething, 
As if this earth in fast thick pants were 

breathing, 
A mighty fountain momently was forced. 
Amid whose swift, half-intermitted burst 
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail. 
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail ; 
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and 

ever 
It flung up momently the sacred river. 
Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion 
Through wood and dale, the sacred river 

ran — 
Then reached the caverns measureless to man. 
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean ; 
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
Ancestral voices prophesying war. 

The shadow of the dome of pleasure 
Floated midway on the waves, 
Where was heard the mingled measure 
From the fountain and the caves. 
It was a miracle of rare device — 
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! 
A damsel with a dulcimer 
In a vision once I saw ; 



I was an Abyssinian maid. 
And on her dulcimer she played, 
Singing of Mount x\bora. 
Could I revive within me 
Her symphony and song. 
To such a deep delight 't would win me 
That, with music loud and long, 
I would build that dome in air — 
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
And all who heard should see them there^ 
And all should cry. Beware ! beware 
His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
Weave a circle round him thrice. 
And close your eyes with holy dread, 
For he on honey-dew hath fed. 
And drunk the milk of Paradise. 

Samuel Taylos Coleeidgb. 



THE EAYElSr. 

Onoe, upon a midnight dreary, while I pon- 
dered, weak and weary, 

Over many a quaint and curious volume of 
forgotten lore — 

While I nodded, nearly nap])ing, suddenly 
there came a tapping, 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at 
my chamber door : 

" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, " tapping at 
my chamber door — 

Only this, and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember! it was in the 

bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought ita 

ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had 

tried to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow 

for the lost Lenore— 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the 

angels name Lenore — 

Xameless here for evermore. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of 

each purple curtain 
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors 

never felt before ; 



THE RAVEN. 



685 



So that now, to still the beating of my heart, 

I stood repeating, 
" 'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my 

chamber door — 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my 

chamber door ; — 

This it is, and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating 
tlien no longer, 

" Sir," said I, " or madam, truly your forgive- 
ness I implore ; 

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently 
you came rapping, 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at 
my chamber door, 

That I scarce was sure I heard you," — here 
I opened wide the door : 

Darkness there, and nothing more ! 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood 
there wondering, fearing, 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever 
dared to dream before ; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the dark- 
ness gave no token. 

And the only word there spoken was the 
whispered word, ^'Lenore! " 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured 
back the word *' Lenore ! " 

Merely this, and nothing more. 

Tlien into the chamber turning, all my soul 

within me burning. 
Boon I heard again a tapping, somewhat 

louder than before : 
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something 

at my window lattice ; 
I Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this 

mystery explore — 
I Let my heart be still a moment, and this mys- 
tery explore ; — 

'T is the wind, and nothing more I " 

Open here I flung tne shutter, when, with 

many a flirt and flutter, 
In there stepped a stately raven of tlie saintly 

days of yore ; 



Not the least obeisance made he ; not an in- 
stant stopped or stayed he ; 

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above 
my chamber door — 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my 
chamber door — 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy 
into smiling, 

By the grave and stern decorum of the coun- 
tenance it wore ; 

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, 
thou," I said, "art sure no craven — 

Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering 
from the nightly shore — 

Tell m.e what thy lordly name is on the night'?' 
Plutonian shore ! " 

Quoth the raven "Nevermore." 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear 
discourse so plainly — 

Though its answer little meaning, little rele- 
vancy bore ; 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living 
human being 

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above 
his chamber door — 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above 
his chamber door, 

With such name as " Nevermore." 



But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid 

bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word 

he did outpour. 
Nothing farther then he uttered — not a 

feather then he fluttered — 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other 

friends have flown before — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes 

have flown before." 

Then the bird said "Nevermore.'* 



Startled at the stillness broken by reply so 

aptly spoken, 
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters Is its 

only stock and store — 



586 



POEMS or THE IMAGINATION. 



Caught from some unhappy master, whom 
unmerciful disaster 

Followed fast and followed faster, till his 
songs one burden bore — 

Till the dirges of his hope the melancholy- 
burden bore 

Of ' N'ever — Nevermore.' " 



But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul 
into smiling, 

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front 
of bird, and bust and door ; 

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook my- 
self to linking 

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous 
bird of yore — 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and 
ominous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking *• Nevermore." 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no sylla- 
ble expressing 

To the fowl, whose fiery eyes novr burned 
into my bosom's core ; 

This, and more, I sat divining, with my head 
at ease reclining 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp- 
light gloated o'er ; 

But whose velvet violet lining, with the 
lamplight gloating o'er. 

She shall press — ah, never more ! 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, per- 
fumed from an unseen censer 

Swung by angels, whose faint foot-falls tinkled 
on the tufted floor. 

"Wretch ! " I cried, " thy God hath lent thee, 
by these angels he hath sent thee. 

Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy 
memories of Lenore ! 

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and for- 
get this lost Lenore ! " 

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 



"Prophet! " said I, " thing of evU! — prophet 

still, if bird or devil ! 
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest 

tossed thee here ashore — 



despTt ■ 



Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert 

land enchanted. 
On this home by horror haunted — ^tell me 

truly, I implore — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? tell me — 

tell me, I implore! " 

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 



y 



"Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil! — prophet 
still, if bird or devil I 

By that heaven that bends above us— by that 
God we both adore — 

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the 
distant Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the an- 
gels name Lenore — 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the 
angels name Lenore." 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 



i 



" Be that word our sign of parting, bird 

fiend ! " I shrieked, upstarting — 
"Get thee back into the tempest and the 

night's Plutonian shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie 

thy soul hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness • unbroken ! — quit the 

bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take 

thy form from off my door ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 



And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, 
still is sitting 

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my 
chamber door ; 

And his eyes have all the seeming of a de- 
mon's that is dreaming. 

And the lamphght, o'er him streaming, throws 
his shadow on the floor ; 

And my soul from out that shadow that live 
floating on the floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 

EsGAS Allan Foil 



THE FAIRY THOK^. 



587 



THE FAIBY THORIlT. 

AN "ULSTEE BALLAD. 

"Get up, our Anua dear, from tlie wearj 
spinning wheel ; 
For your father 's on the hill, and your 
mother is asleep ; 
Come up ahovc the crags, and we '11 dance a 
highland reel 
Around the fairy thorn on the steep." 

At Anna Grace's door 't was thus the maidens 
cried, 
Three merry maidens fair, in kirtles of the 
green ; 
And Anna laid the sock and the weary wheel 
aside, 
The fairest of the four, I ween. 

They 're glancing through the glimmer of the 
quiet eve, 
Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle 
bare; 
The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song 
they leave, 
And the crags in the ghostly air ; 

And linking hand in hand, and singing as 
they go, 
The maids along the hill-side have ta'en 
their fearless way. 
Till they come to where the rowan trees in 
lovely beauty grow 
Beside the Fairy Hawthorn gray. 

The hawthorn stands between the ashes tall 
and slim. 
Like matron with her twin grand-daughters 
at her knee ; 
The rowan berries cluster o'er her low head 
gray and dim 
In ruddy kisses sweet to see. 

The merry maidens four have ranged them 
in a row. 
Between each lovely couple a stately rowan 
stem, 
And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds 
they go, 
Oil, never carolPd bird like them I 



But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze 
That drinks away their voices in echolesF 
repose, 
And dreamily the evening has stilled the 
haunted braes. 
And dreamier the gloaming grows. 

And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from 
the sky 
When the falcon's shadow saileth across 
the open shaw, 
Are hu^'d the maidens' voices, as cowering 
down they lie 
In the flutter of their sudden awe. 

For, from the air ^bove, and the grassy 
ground beneath. 
And from the mountain-ashes and the old 
white thorn between, 
A power of faint enchantment doth through 
their beings breathe. 
And they sink down together on the green. 

They sink together, silent, and steah ng side 
by side. 
They fling their lovely arms o'er their 
drooping necks so fair. 
Then vainly strive again their naked arms to 
hide. 
For their shrinking necks again are bare. 

Thus clasp'd and prostrate all, with theii 
heads together bow'd, 
Soft o'er their bosoms beating — the only 
human sound — 
They hear the silky footsteps of the silent 
fairy crowd. 
Like a river in the air, gliding round. 

Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can 
any say, 
But wild, wild, the terror of the speechless 
three. 
For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently 
away. 
By whom they dare not look tc see. 

They feel their tresses twine with her parting 
locks of gold. 
And the curls elastic fallinff, ns hor hoan 
withd7*aws ; 



588 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Tliey feel her sliding arms from their tranced 
arms unfold, 
But they dare not look to see the cause : 

For heavy on their senses the faint enchant- 
ment lies 
Through all that night of anguish and 
perilous amaze ; 
And neither fear nor wonder can ope their 
quivering eyes 
Or their limhs from the cold ground raise. 

Till out of night the earth has rolled her 
dewy side, 
With every haunted mountain and streamy 
vale below ; 
When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow 
morning-tide, 
The maidens' trance dissolveth so. 

Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they 
may. 
And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious 
friends in vain — 
They pined away and died within the year 
and day, 
And ne'er was Anna Grace seen again. 
Samitel Feeguson. 



THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHEE. 



As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, 

Under the grass as I lay so deep, 

As I lay asleep in my cotton serk 

Under the shade of Our Lady's kirk, 

I wakened up in the dead of night, 

I wakened up in my death-serk white. 

And I heard a cry from far away. 

And I knew the voice of my daughter May ; 

" Mother, mother, come hither to me! 

Mother, mother, come hither and see! 

Mother, mother, mother dear. 

Another mother is sitting here : 

My body is bruised, and in pain I cry, 

On straw in the darkness afraid I lie ; 

I thirst and hunger for drink and meat. 

And mother, mother, to sleep were sweet ! " 

I heard the cry, though my grave was deep. 

And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep. 



II. 

I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep, 

Up I rose from my grave so deep ; 

The earth was black, but overhead 

The stars were yellow, the moon was red ; 

And I walked along all white and thin. 

And lifted the latch and entered in. 

And reached the chamber as dark as night, 

And though it was dark my face was white. 

" Mother, mother, I look on thee ! 

Mother, mother, you frighten me ! 

For your cheeks are thin, and jour hair lo 

gray!" 
But I smiled, and kissed her fears away, 
I smoothed her hair and I sang a song, 
And on my knee I rocked her long : 
" mother, mother, sing low to me ; 
I am sleepy now, and I cannot see ! '' 
I kissed her, but I could not weep. 
And she went to sleep, she went to sleep. 

ni. 

As we lay asleep, as we lay asleep. 

My May and I, in our grave so deep, 

As we lay asleep in our midnight mirk, 

Under the shade of Our Lady's kirk, 

I wakened up in the dead of night, 

Though May my daughter lay warm and 

white. 
And I heard the cry of a little one. 
And I knew 't was the voice of Hugh my son : 
^'Mother, mother, come hither to me ! 
Mother, mother, come hither and see ! 
Mother, mother, mother dear. 
Another mother is sitting here : 
My body is bruised and my heart is sad. 
But I speak my mind and call them bad ; 
I thirst and hunger night and day. 
And were I strong I would fly away ! " 
I heard the cry, though my grave was deep, 
And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep 

lY. 

I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep, 
Up I rose from my grave so deep ; 
The earth was black, but overhead 
The stars were yellow, the moon was red ; 
And I walked along all white and thin, 
And lifted the latch and entered in. 
"Mother, mother, and art thou here? 
I know your face, and I feel no fear • 



THE DJINNS. 



6S9 



Raise me, mother, and kiss mj cheek, 
For oh I am weary and sore and weak." 
I smoothed his hair with a mother's joy. 
And he laughed aloud, my own brave boy ; 
I raised and held him on my breast, 
Sang him a song, and bade him rest. 
" Mother, mother, sing low to me ; 
I am sleepy now and I cannot see ! " 
I kissed him and I could not weep. 
As he went to sleep, as he went to sleep. 



As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep. 

With my girl and boy in my grave so deep, 

As I lay asleep, I woke in fear, 

A.woke, but awoke not my children dear. 

And heard a cry so low and weak 

From a tiny voice that could not speak ; 

I heard the cry of a little one, 

My bairn that could neither talk nor run, 

My little, little one, un caressed 

Starving for lack of the milk of the breast ; 

And I rose from sleep and entered in, 

And found my little one pinched and thin. 

And crooned a song and hushed its moan, 

And put its lips to my white breastbone ; 

And the red, red moon that lit the place 

Went white to look at the little face. 

And I kissed and kissed, and I could not 

weep, 
As it went to sleep, as it went to sleep. 



As it lay asleep, as it lay asleep, 

I set it down in the darkness deep. 

Smoothed its limbs and laid it out, 

And drew the curtains around about; 

Then into the dark, dark room I hied 

Where he lay awake at the woman's side, 

And though the chamber was black as night, 

He saw my face, for it was so white ; 

f gazed in his eyes, and he shrieked in pain, 

And I knew he would never sleep again. 

And back to my grave went silently. 

And soon my baby was brought to me ; 

My son and daughter beside me rest, 

My little baby is on my breast ; 

Our bed is warm, and our grave is deep, 

But he cannot sleep, he cannot sleep. 

KoBEBT Buchanan. 



THE DJIIsrNS. 

Town, tower, 
Shore, deep. 
Where lower 
Clouds steep ; 
Waves gray 
Where play 
Winds gay — 
All asleep. 

Hark I a sound, 
Far and slight. 
Breathes around 
On the night — 
High and higher. 
Nigh and nigher, 
Like a fire 
Roaring bright. 

Now on it is sweeping 
• With rattling beat. 
Like dwarf imp leaping 
In gallop fleet ; 
He flies, he prances. 
In frolic fancies — 
On wave-crest dances 
AYith pattering feet. 

Hark, the rising swell. 
With each nearer burst ! 
Like the toll of bell 
Of a convent cursed ; 
Like the billowy roar 
On a storm-lashed shore — 
Now hushed, now once more 
Maddening to its worst. 

God ! the deadly sound 
Of the djinns' fearful cry I 
Quick, 'neath the spiral round 
Of the deep staircase, fly I 
See, see our lamplight fade ! 
And of the balustrade 
Mounts, mounts the circling shade 
Up to the ceiling high I 

'Tis the djinns' wild-streaming swarm 
Whistling in their tempest-flight ; 
Snap the tall yews 'neath the storm, 
Like a pine-flame crackling bright ; 



590 



POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 



Swift and heavy, low, their orowi 
Through the heavena nisbing loud ! — 
Like a lurid thunder-cloud 
With its bolt of fiery night ! 

Ha ! they are on us, close without ! 
Shut tight the shelter where we lie ! 
With hideous din the monster rout, 
Dragon and vampire, fill the sky ! 
The loosened rafter overhead 
Trembles and bends like quivering reed ; 
Shakes the old door with shuddering dread, 
As from it's rusty hinge 't would fly ! 

Wild cries of hell! voices that howl and 

shriek ! 
The horrid swarm before the tempest tossed — 
heaven ! — descends my lowly roof to 

seek; 
Bends the strong wall beneath the furious 

host; 
Totters the house, as though — ^like dry leaf 

shorn 
From autumn bough and on the mad blast 

borne — 
Up from its deep foundations it were torn 
To join the stormy whirl. Ah ! all is lost ! 

O prophet! if thy hand but now 

Save from these foul and hellish things, 

A pilgrim at thy shrine I '11 bow, 

Laden with pious ofi*erings. 

Bid their hot breath its fiery rain 

Stream on my faithful door in vain, 

Vainly upon my blackened pane 

Grate the fierce claws of their dark wings! 

They have passed !-^and their wild legion 
Cease to thunder at my door ; 
Fleeting through night's rayless region. 
Hither they return no more. 
Clanking chains and sounds of woe 
FiU the forests as they go ; 
And the tall oaks cower low, 
Bent tlieir flaming flight before. 



On ! on ! the storm of wings 
Bears far the fiery fear, 
Till scarce the breeze now brings 
Dim murinurings to the ear ; 
Like locusts' humming hail, 
Or thrash of tiny flail 
Plied by the pattering haii 
On some old roof-tree near. 

Fainter now are borne 
Fitful murmurings still ; 
As, when Arab horn 
Swells its magic peal, 
Shoreward o'er the deep 
Fairy voices sweep, 
And the infant's sleep 
Golden visions fill. 

Each deadly djinn, 
Dark child of fright, 
Of death and sin, 
Speeds the wild flight 
Hark, the dull moan I 
Like the deep tone 
Of ocean's groan, 
Afar, by night ! 

More and more 
Fades it now, 
As on shore 
Kipples flow — 
As the plaint, 
Far and faint. 
Of a saint. 
Murmured low. 

Hark! histl 

Around 

I list ! 

The bounds 

Of space 

All trace 

EfiTace 

Of sound. 

YiCTOE Hugo. (FrencA.j 
Tiftnslation of John L. O'Sttllivan. 



PART IX. 
POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Fiis snow -drop, and then tli9 violet, 
Arose from the ground with warm rain we^ 
And their breath was mixed with fresh odor, sent 
Prom the turf, like the voice and the instrumeuw 

Then the pied wind-flowers, and the tulip tall, 
And narcissi, the fairest among them all, 
Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess 
Till they die of their own dear loveliness ; 

And the naiad-like lily of the vale. 
Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale, 
That the light of its tremulous bells is seen 
Through their pavilions of tender green ; 

And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue, 
Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew 
Of music so delicate, soft, and intense. 
It was felt like an odor within the sense ; 

And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest. 
Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, 
Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air 
The soul of her beauty and love lay bare ; 

And the wand-like lily which lifted up. 
As a moenad, its moonlight-colored cup. 
Till the fiery star, which is its eye, 
t^azed through clear dew on the tender sky ; 

And tfie jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberoBC. 
The sweetest flower for scent that blows ; 
And all rare blossoms from every clime 
fti-ew in that garden in perfect prime. 

SnSLLBV. 



I 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REELECTION 



"ALL EARTHLY JOY RETURFS m 
PAIK" 

Of Lentren in the first morning, 
Early as did the day iip-spring, 
Thus sang ane bird with voice up-plain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

O man ! have mind that thou maun pass ; 
Remember that thou are but ass, [ashes,] 
And sail in ass return again : 
All earthly joy returns inpai7i. 

Unwe mind that eild aye follows youth ; 
Death follows life with gaping mouth, 
Devouring fruit and flouring grain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Wealth, worldly gloir, and rich array, 
Ai'o till but thorns laid in thy way, 
Covered with flowers laid in ane train : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Oomo never yet May so fresh and green, 
But Januar come as wud and keen ; 
Was never sic drouth but anis come rain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Evermair unto this warld^s joy, 
As nearest heir succeeds noy. 
Therefore wlien joy may not remain. 
His very heir succedis pain. 

Here health returns in seikncss ; 
And mirth returns in heaviness ; 
Toun in desert, forest in plain : 
A U eartlily joy returns in pai/n. 
70 



Freedom returns in wretchedness. 
And truth returns in doubleness. 
With fenyeit words to mak men faiu r 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Virtue returnis into vice. 
And honor into avarice ; 
With covetice is conscience slain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

Sen earthly joy abidis never, 
Work for the joy that lasts forever ; 
For other joy is all but vain : 
All earthly joy returns in pain. 

William Dunbar, 

THE LORDS OF THULE. 

TnE lords of Thule it did not please 

That Willegis their bishop was ; 

For he was a wagoner's son. 

And they drew, to do him scorn. 

Wheels of chalk upon the wall ; 

He found them in chamber, found them in 
hall. 

But the pious Willegis 

Could not be moved to bitterness; 

Seeing the wheels upon the wall. 

He bade his servants a painter call ; 

And said, — ^' My friend, paint now for me, 

On every wall, that I may see, 

A wheel of white in a field of red ; 

Underneath, in letters i)lain to be read — 
* AYillegis, bishop now by name, 
Forget not whence you came 1 ' " 



5^4 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



The lords of Thule were full of sliame — 
They wiped away tlieir words of blame ; 
For they saw that scorn and jeer 
Cannot wound the wise man's ear. 
And all the bishops that after him came 
Quartered the wheel with their arms of fame. 
Thus came to pious Willegis • 
Grlory out of bitterness. 

Anontmoits. (German.) 
Anonymous Translation. 



BARCLAY OF URY. 

Up the streets of Aberdeen, 
By the kirk and college green, 

Kode the laird of Ury ; 
Close behind him, close beside, 
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed, 

Pressed the mob in fury. 

Flouted him the drunken churl, 
Jeered at him the serving girl, 

Prompt to please her master ; 
And the begging carlin, late 
Fed and clothed at Ury's gate. 

Cursed him as he passed her. 

Yet with calm and stately mien 
Up the streets of Aberdeen 

Came he slowly riding ; 
And, to all he saw and heard. 
Answering not with bitter word. 

Turning not for chiding. 

Came a troop with broadswords swinging, 
Bits and bridles sharply ringing, 

Loose, and free, and froward .' 
Quoth the foremost, " Ride him down! 
Push him! prick him! Through the 

town 
Drive the Quaker coward ! " 

But from out the thickening crowa ^ 
Cried a sudden voice and loud : 

'^Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!" 
And the old man at his side 
Saw a comrade, battle-tried, 

Scarred and sun-burned darkly ; 

Who, with ready weapon bare, 
Fronting to the troopers there. 



Cried aloud : " God save us ! 
Call ye coward him who stood 
Ankle-deep in Lntzen's blood. 

With the brave Gustavus ? " 

" ITay, I do not need thy sword, 
Comrade mine," said Ury's lord; 

"Put it up, I pray theo; 
Passive to His holy will, 
Trust I in my Master still, 

Even though He slay me, 

** Pledges of thy love and faitli, 
Proved on many a field of deatlbr 

Not by me are needed." 
Marvelled much that henchman bok% 
That his laird, so stout of old, 

N'ow so meekly pleaded. 

" Woe 's the day," he sadly said, 
With a slowly-shaking head, 

And a look of pity ; 
" Ury's honest lord reviled. 
Mock of knave and sport of child, 

In his own good city ! 

" Speak the word, and, master mine^ 
As we charged on Tilly's line, 

And his Walloon lancers. 
Smiting through their midst, we '11 teach 
Civil look and decent speech 

To these boyish prancers ! " 

" Marvel not mine ancient friend- 
Like beginning, like the end ! " 

Quoth the laird of Ury ; 
" Is the sinful servant more 
Than his gracious Lord who bore 

Bonds and stripes in Jewry ? 

" Give me joy that in His name 
I can bear, with patient frame, 

All these vain ones offer ; 
While for them He suffered long. 
Shall I answer wrong with wrong, 

Scoffing with the scoffer? 

" Happier I, with loss of all — 
Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall, 

With few friends to greet me — 
Than when reeve and squire were seen 
Riding out from Aberdeen 

With bared heads to meet me • 



HARMOSAN. 



595 



" TVhen each good wife, o'er and o'er, 
Blessed me as 1 passed her door ; 

And the snooded daughter, 
Through her casement glancing down. 
Smiled on him who bore renown 

From red fields of slaughter. 

" Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, 
Hard the old friends' falling off. 

Hard to learn forgiving ; 
But the Lord his own rewards. 
And his love with theirs accords 

Warm, and fresh, and living. 

" Through this dark and stormy night 
Faith beholds a feeble light 

Up the blackness streaking ; 
Knowing God's own time is best, 
In a patient hope I rest 

For the full day-breaking ! " 

So the laird of Ury said, 
Turning slow his horse's head 

Towards the Tolbooth prison, 
Where, through iron gates, he heard 
Poor disciples of the Word 

Preach of Christ arisen ! 

Not in vain, confessor old, 
Unto us the tale is told 

Of thy day of trial ! 
Every age on him, who strays 
From its broad and beaten ways, 

Pours its seven-fold vial. 

Happy he whose inward ear 
Angel comfortings can hear. 

O'er the rabble's laughter ; 
And, while hatred's fagots burn, 
Glimpses through the smoke discern 

Of the good hereafter. 

Knowing this — that never yet 
Share of truth was vainly set 

In the world's wide fallow ; 
After hands shall sow the seed, 
After hands from hill and mead 

Reap the harvests yellow. 
Thus, with somewhat of the seer, 
Must the moral pioneer 

From the future borrow — 
Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, 
And, on midnight's sky of rain. 

Paint the golden morrow I 

John Greenleap "Whitttek. 



HARMOSAK 

Fow the third and fatal conflict for the Per- 
sian throne was done, 

And the Moslem's fiery valor had the crown- 
ing victory won. 

Harmosan, the last and boldest the invader 

to defy, 
Captive, overborne by numbers, they were 

bringing forth to die. 

Then exclaimed that noble captive : *' Lo, I 

perish in my thirst ; 
Give me but one drink of water, and let then 

arrive the w^orst ! " 

In his hand he took the goblet : but a while 
the draught forbore, 

Seeming doubtfully the purpose of the foe- 
man to explore. 

Well might then have paused the bravest — 
for, around him, angry foes 

With a hedge of naked weapons did tha 
lonely man enclose. 

'' But what fearest thou ? " cried the caliph 
'' is it, friend, a secret blow ? 

Fear it not! our gaUant Moslems no such 
treacherous dealing know. 

" Thou may'st quench thy thirst securely, for 
thou shalt not die before 

Thou hast drunk that cup of water — this re- 
prieve is thine — no more ! " 

Quick the satrap dashed the goblet down to 

earth with ready hand, 
And the liquid sank for ever, lost amid the 

burning sand. 

"Thou hast said that mine my life is, till the 

water of that cup 
I have drained ; then bid thy servants that 

spilled water trjitlior up ! " 

For a moment stood the caliph as by doubt- 
fftl passions stirred — 

Then exclaimed, " For ever sacred must re- 
main a monarch's word. 



596 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



"Bring another cup, and straightway to the " 0, nij Balder! have I, have I found thee— 



noble Persian give : 
Drink, I said before, and perisli— now I bid 
thee drink and live ! '' 

ElCHAED ChENEYIX TkENCH. 



BALDER. 

Baldee, the white sun-god, has departed ! 

Beautiful as summer dawn was he ; 
Loved of gods and men — the royal-hearted 
Balder, the white sun-god, has departed — 

Has gone home where all the brave ones be. 

For the tears of the imperial mother, 

For a universe that weeps and prays. 
Rides Hermoder forth to seek his brother — 
Rides for love of that distressful mother, 
Through lead- colored glens and cross-blue 
ways. 

With the howling wind and raving torrent, 

Nine days rode he, deep and deeper down — 
Reached the vast death-kingdom, rough and 

horrent. 
Reached the lonely bridge that spans the tor- 
rent 
Of the moaning river by Hell-town. 

There he found the ancient portress stand- 
ing— 

Vexer of the mind and of the heart : 
"Balder came this way," to his demanding 
Cried aloud that ancient portress, standing — 

" Balder came, but Balder did depart ; 

' Here he could not dwell. He is down yon- 
der — 
Northward, further, in the death-realm he." 
Rode Hermoder on in silent wonder — " 
Mane of Gold fled fast and rushed down yon- 
der! 
Brave and good mus!) young Hermoder be. 

For he leaps sheer over Hela's portal, 

Drops into the huge abyss below. 
There he saw the beautiful immortal — 
6aw him. Balder, under Hela's portal — 
Saw him, and forgot his nain and woe. 



Balder, beautiful as summer morn ? 
0, my sun-god ! hearts of heroes crowned 

thee 
For their king ; they lost, but now have found 
thee; 
Gods and men shall not be left forlorn. 



" Balder! brother! the Divine has vanished — 

The eternal splendors all have fled ; 
Truth and love and nobleness are baiushed 
The heroic and divine have vanished ; 
Nature has no god, and earth lies dead. 

"" Come thou back, my Balder — king and 
brother ! 
Teach the hearts of men to love the gods ! 
Come thou back, and comfort our great 

mother — 
Come with truth and bravery. Balder, bro- 
ther — 
Bring the godlike back to men's abodes ! " 

But the Nomas let him pray unheeded — 

Balder never was to come again. 
Vainly, vainly young Hermoder pleaded — 
Balder never was to come. Unheeded, 
Young Hermoder wept and prayed in vain, 



Oh, the trueness of this ancient story! 

Even now it is, as it was then. 
Earth hath lost a portion of her glory ; 
And like Balder, in the ancient story. 

Never comes the beautiful a2:ain. 



i 



Still the young Hermoder journeys bravely. 

Through lead-colored glens and cross-blue ^ 
ways; 
Still he calls his brother, pleading gravely — 
Still to the death-kingdom ventures bravely— 

Calmly to the eternal terror prays 

But the fates relent not ; strong endeavor, 
Courage, noble feeling, are in vain ; 

For beautiful has gone for ever. 

Vain are courage, genius, strong endeavor — 
Never comes the beautiful again. 



ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION. 



597 



Do you think I counsel weak despairing ? 

'No ! like young Hermoder I would ride ; 
With an humble, yet a gallant daring, 
I would leap unquailing, undespairing, 

Over the huge precipice's side. 

t)ead and gone is the old world's ideal, 
The old arts and old religion fled ; 

But I gladly live amid the real, 

A.nd I seek a worthier ideal. 
Courage, brothers, God is overhead ! 

Anonymous. 



ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BEL- 
ZOOT'S EXHIBITIOlSr. 

And thou hast walked about, (how strange a 
story !) 

In Thebes' streets three thousand years ago, 
When the Memnonium was in all its glory, 

And time had not begun to overthrow 
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, 
3f which the very ruins are tremendous. 

Speak! for thou long enough hast acted 
dummy ; 
Thou hast a tongue — come — let us hear its 
tune; 

Thou 'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, 
mummy I 
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon — 

Not like thin ghosts or disembodied crea- 
tures. 

But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and 
features. 

Tell us — for doubtless thou canst recollect — 
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's 
fame? 
Was Cheops or Oephrenes architect 

Of either pyramid that bears his name ? 
Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer ? 
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Ho- 
mer ? 

Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden 
By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade — 

Then say what secret melody was hidden 
In Memnon's statue, wliicli at sunrise 
played ? 



Perhaps thou wert a priest — ^if so, my struif- 
gles 

Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its jug- 
gles. 

Perhaps that very hand, now pinioned flat, 
Has hob-9-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to 
glass ; 

Or dropped a half-penny in Homer's hat ; 
Or doflfed thine own to let Queen Dido pass; 

Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, 

A torch at the great temple's dedicatiou. 

I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, 
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuck- 
led; 
For thou wert dead, and buried, and em- 
balmed. 
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled : 
Antiquity appears to have begun 
Long after thy primeval race was run. 

Thou could'st develop — if that withered 
tongue 
Might tell us what those sightless orbs have 
seen — 
How the world looked when it was fresh and 
young. 
And the great deluge still had left it green ; 
Or was it then so old that history's pages 
Contained no record of its early ages ? 

Still silent! incommunicative elf! 

Art sworn to secrecy ? then keep thy vows ; 
But prythee tell us something of thyself— 
Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house ; 
Since in the world of sph'its thou hast slum- 
bered — 
What liast thou seen — what strange adven- 
tures numbered ? 

Since first thy form was in this box extended 
We have, above ground, seen some strange 
mutations ; 

The Roman empire has begun and ended — 
New worlds have risen — we have lost old 
nations ; 

And countless kings have into dust beeji 
humbled. 

While not a fragment of thy flesh has crum- 
bled. 



598 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Didst thou not Lear the pother o'er thy head, 
"When the great Persian conqueror, Cam- 
byses, 
Marched armies o'er thy tomb with thunder- 
ing tread — 
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis ; 
And shook the pyramids with fear and won- 
der. 
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ? 

If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, 

The nature of thy private life unfold : 
A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern 

breast, 
And tears adown that dusty cheek have 

rolled ; 
Have children climbed those knees, and kissed 

that face ? 
What was thy name and station, age and 

race ? 

Statue of flesh — Immortal of the deadj 
Imperishable type of evanescence ! 

Posthumous man — who quitt'st thy narrow 
bed, 
And standest undecayed within oar pres- 
ence ! 

Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment 
morning. 

When the great trump shall thrill thee with 
its warning. 

Why should this worthless tegument endure, 
K its undying guest be lost for ever ? 

Oh ! let us keep the soul embalmed and pure 
In living virtue — ^that when both must sever, 

Although corruption may our frame consume. 

The immortal. spirit in the skies may bloom! 

HoRACK Smith. 



THE TWO OCEANTS. 

T^o seas, amid the night. 

In the moonshine roll and sparkle — 
Now spread in the silver light, 

!Now sadden, and wail, and darkle ; 
The one has a billowy motion, 

And from land to land it gleams ; 
The other is sleep's wide ocean. 

And its glimmering waves are dreams : 



The one, with murnaur and roar, 
Bears fleets around coast and islet; 

The other, without a shore, 

Ne'er knew the track of a pilot. 

John Steblikq 



THE FISHEPv'S COTTAGE. 

We sat by the fisher's cottage, 
And looked at the stormy tide ; 

The evening mist came rising, 
And floating far and wide. 

One by one in the light-house 
The lamps shone out on high ; 

And far on the dim horizon 
A ship went sailing by. 

We spoke of storm and shipwreck — 
Of sailors, and how they live ; 

Of journeys 'twixt sky and water, 
And the sorrows and joys they give. 

We spoke of distant countries, 

In regions strange and fair ; 
And of the wondrous beings 

And curious customs there . 

Of perfumed lamps on the Ganges, 
Which are launched in the twilight hour i 

And the dark and silent Brahmins, 
Who worship the lotus flower. 

Of the wretched dwarfs of Lapland — 
Broad-headed, wide-mouthed and small— 

Who crouch round their oil-fires, cooking, 
And chatter and scream and bawl. 

And the maidens earnestly listened, 
Till at last we spoke no more ; 

The ship like a shadow had vanished. 

And darkness fell deep on the shore. 

Henry IIeink (QormEii). 
Translation of Ch A "ELES G. Lelanl>. 



ABOU BEN ADEEM. 



599 



VERSES 

iUI'POSED TO BE WEITTEN BY ALEXANDEK SEL- 

kiek:, during nis solitaey abode in the 

ISLAND OF JUAN FEENANDEZ. 

I AM monarch of all I survey — 
My right there is none to dispute ; 

From the centre all round to the sea, 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

Solitude ! where are the charms 
That sages have seen in thy face ? 

Better dwell in tlie midst of alarms 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach ; 

I must finish my journey alone, 
iTever hear the sweet music of speech — 

I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts that roam over the plain 

My form with indifference see ; 
They are so unacquainted with man, 

Their tameness is shocking to mc. 

Society, friendship, and love, 

Divinely bestowed upon man I 
Oh, had I the wings of a dove. 

How soon would I taste you again ! 
My sorrows I then might assuage 

In the ways of religion and truth — 
Might learn from the wisdom of age, 

And be cheered by the sallies of youth. 

Religion I What treasure untolu 

R€sides in that heavenly word ! — 
More precious than silver and gold. 

Or all that this earth can afford ; 
But the sound of the church-going be. 

These valleys and rocks never heard, 
Never sighed at the sxmnd of a knell, 

Or smilod when a sabbath appeared. 

Ye winds that have made me your sport, 

Convey to this desolate shore 
Some cordial endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more ! 
My friends — do they now and then send 

A wish or a thought after me ? 
Oh tell me I yet have a friend, 

Though a friend I am never to see. 



How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 

Compared with the speed of its flight 
The tempest itself lags behind, 

And the swift-winged arrows of light. 
When I think of my own native land, 

In a moment I seem to be there ; 
But, alas ! recollection at hand 

Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, 

The beast is laid down in his lair : 
Even here is a season of rest. 

And I to my cabin repair. 
There 's mercy in every place. 

And mercy — encouraging thought ! — 
Gives even affliction a grace, 

And reconciles man to his lot. 

William Cowpeb. 



ABOU BEN ADHEM. 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw within the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold : 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. 
And to the presence in the room he said, 
'^ What writest thou?" — The vision raised its 

head, 
And, with a look made of all sweet accord. 
Answered — "The names of those who love 

the Lord." 
"And is mine one?" said Abou; "Nay, not 

so," 
Replied the angel. — Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerly still ; and said, "1 pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next 

night 
It came again, with a great wakening light, 
And showed the names whom love of God 

had blessed — 
And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest ' 

Letoh IIfnt. 



800 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE STEAMBOAT. 

See how yon flaming herald treads 

The ridged and rolling waves, 
As, crashing o'er their crested heads, 

She bows her surly slaves ! 
With foam before and fire behind, 

Slie rends the clinging sea. 
That flies before the roaring wind, 

Beneath her hissing lee. 

The morning spray, like sea-born flowers 

With heaped and glistening bells, 
Falls round her fast in ringing showers, 

With every wave that swells ; 
And, flaming o'er the midnight deep. 

In lurid fringes thrown. 
The living gems of ocean sweep 

Along her flashing zone. 

With clashing wheel, and lifting keel, 

And smoking torch on high. 
When winds are loud, and billows reel. 

She thunders, foaming, by ! 
When seas are silent and serene 

With even beam she glides, 
Tlie sunshine glimmering through the green 

That skirts her gleaming sides. 

Now, like a wild nymph, far apart 

She veils her shadowy form. 
The beating of her restless heart 

Still sounding through the storm ; 
Now answers, like a courtly dame, 

The reddening surges o'er. 
With flying scarf of spangled flame, 

The pharos of the shore. 

To-night yon pilot shall not sleep, 

Who trims his narrowed sail ; 
To-night yon frigate scarce shall keep 

Her broad breast to the gale ; 
And many a foresail, scooped and strained. 

Shall break from yard and stay, 
Before this smoky wreath hath stained 

The rising mist of day. 

Hark! hark"! I hear yon whistling shroud, 

I see yon quivering mast — 
riie black throat of the hunted cloud 

Is panting forth the blast ! 



An hour, and, whirled like winnowing ciialF 

The giant surge shall fling 
His tresses o'er yon pennon-staff. 

White as the sea-bird's wing! 

Yet rest, ye wanderers of tlie deep ! 

Kor wind nor wave shall tire 
Those fleshless arms, whose pulses leap 

With floods of living fire ; 
Sleep on — and when the morning light 

Streams o'er the shining bay, 
Oh, think of those for whom the night 

Shall never wake in day ! 

Oliver 'WE^-DELL Holmbo 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

TJndee a spreading chestnut tree 

The village smithy stands : 
The smith — a mighty man is he, 

AYith large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; 

His face is like the tan , 
His brow is wet with honest sweat — 

He earns whate'er he can ; 
And looks the whole world in the fac^. 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow — 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell. 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children, coming home from school. 

Look in at the open door ; 
They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar. 
And catch the burning sparks, that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 
And sits among his boys ; 



THE SONG OF THE FORGE. 



60] 



He hears the parson pray and preach — 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice. 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing — 
Onward through life he goes ; 

Each morning sees some task begin. 
Each evening sees it close — 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend. 
For the lesson thou hast taught ! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 
Our fortunes must he wrought — 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought ! 

Henry Wadswoeth Longfellow. 



THE SO]tTG OF THE FOKGE. 

CiuANG, clang ! the massive anvils ring ; 

Clang, clang ! a hundred hammers swing — 

Like the thunder-rattle of a tropic sky. 

The mighty blows still multiply — 

Clang, clang ! 

Say, brothers of the dusky brow, 

What are your strong arms forging now ? 

Clang, clang I — we forge the coulter now — 
The coulter of the kindly plough. 
Sweet Mary mother, bless Qur toil ! 
May its broad furrow still unbind 
To genial rains, to sun and Avind, 
The most benignant soil ! 

Olang, clang! — our coulter's course shall be 
On many a sweet and sheltered lea. 
By many a streamlet's silver tide — 
Amidst the song of morning birds, 
Amidst the low of sauntering herds — 



Amidst soft breezes, which do stray 
Through woodbine hedges and sweet May, 
Along the green hill's side. 

When regal autumn's bounteous hand 
With wide-spread glory clothes the land- 
When to the valleys, from the brow 
Of each resplendent slope, is rolled 
A ruddy sea of living gold — 
We bless, we bless the plough. 

Clang, clang ! — again, my mates, what g.ows 
Beneath the hammer's potent blows ? 
Clink, clank ! — we forge the giant chain, 
Which bears the gallant vessel's strain 
'Midst stormy winds and adverse tides ; 
Secured by this, the good ship braves 
The rocky roadstead, and the waves 
Which thunder on her sides. 

Anxious no more, the merchant sees 
The mist drive dark before the breeze. 
The storm-cloud on the hill ; 
Calmly he rests — though far away. 
In boisterous climes, his vessel lay — 
Reliant on our skill. 

Say on what sands these links shall sleep, 
Fathoms beneath the solemn deep ? 
By Afric's pestilential shore ; 
By many an iceberg, lone and hoar ; 
By many a palmy western isle. 
Basking in spring's perpetual smile ; 
By stormy Labrador. 

Say, shall they feel the vessel reel, 

When to the battery's deadly peal 

The crashing broadside makes reply ; 

Or else, as at the glorious Nile, 

Hold grappling ships, that strive the whi e 

For death or victory ? 

Hurrah ! — cling, clang ! — once more, what 

glows. 
Dark brothers of the forge, beneath 
The iron tempest of your blows, 
The furnace's red breath ? 

Clang, clang ! — a burning torrent, dear 
And brilliant of bright sparks, is poured 



502 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Around, and up in the dusky air, 
As our hammers forge the sowrd. 

The bword ! — a name of dread ; yet when 
Upon the freeman's thigh 't is hound — 
While for his altar and his hearth, 
While for the land that gave him birth, 
The war-drums roll, the trumpets sound — 
How sacred is it then ! 

Whenever for the truth and right 
It flashes in the van of fight — 
Whether in some wild mountain pass, 
As that where fell Leonidas ; 
Or on some sterile plain and stern, 
A Marston, or a Bannockhurn ; 
Or amidst crags and bursting rills, 
The Switzer's Alps, gray Tyrol's hills ; 
Or, as when sunk the Armada's pride. 
It gleams above the stormy tide — 
Still, still, whene'er the battle word - 
Is liberty, when men do stand 
For justice and their native land- 
Then heaven bless the sword ! 

Anonymous. 



THE FOEGIKG OF THE ANCHOR. 

Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ! 't is 

at a white heat now — 
The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; 

though, on the forge's brow, 
The little flames still fitfully play through the 

sable mound ; 
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths 

ranking round ; 
AU clad in leathern panoply, their broad 

hands only bare. 
Borne rest upon their sledges here, some work 

the windlass there 

The windlass strains the tackle-chains — the 
black mould heaves below ; 

And red and deep, a hundred veins burst out 
at every throe. 

[t rises, roars, rends all outright — 0, Yulcan, 
what a glow ! 



'T is blinding white, 't is blasting bright — ^the 

high sun shines not so ! 
The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery 

fearful show ! 
The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the 

ruddy lurid row 
Of smiths — that stand, an ardent band, like 

men before the foe ! 
As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the 

sailing monster slow 
Sinks on the anvil — all about, the faces fiery ' 

grow : 
" Hurrah ! " they shout, "leap out, leap out! " 

bang, bang! the sledges go ; 
Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high 

and low ; 
A hailing fount of fire is struck at every 

squashing blow ; ■ 

The leathern mail rebounds the hail ; the rat- | 

tling cinders strew 
The ground around; at every bound the 

sweltering fountains fiow ; 
And, thick and loud, the swinking crowd at 

every stroke pant " ho ! " 
Leap out, leap out, my masters ! leap out, and 

lay on load ! 
Let 's forge a goodly anchor — a bower thick 

and broad ; 
For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, 

I bode ; 
And I see the good ship riding, all in a peril- 
ous road — 
The low reef roaring on her lea ; the roll of 

ocean poured 
From stem to stern, sea after sea ; the main- 
mast by the board ; 
The bulwarks down ; the rudder gone ; the 

boats stove at the chains ; I 

But courage still, brave mariners — the bower 

yet remains ! 
And not an inch to flinch he deigns — save 

when ye pitch sky high ; 
Then moves his head, as though he said, 

"Fear nothing — here am I! " 

Swing in your strokes in order ! let foot and 

hand keep time ; 
Your blows make music sweeter far than 

any steeple's chime. 
But while ye swing your sledges, sing ; acd J 

let the burthen be. 



THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 



603 



The anchor is the anvil king, and royal crafts- 
men we ! 

Strike in, strike in ! — the sparks begin to dull 
their rustling red ; 

Our hammers ring with sharper din — our 
work will soon be sped ; 

Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery 
rich array 

For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an 
oozy couch of clay ,; 

Our anchor soon must change the lay of mer- 
ry craftsmen here 

For the yeo-heave-o, and the heave-away, 
and the sighing seamen's cheer — 

"When, weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far 
from love and home ; 

And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er 
the ocean foam. 

In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down 
at last ; 

A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from 
cat was cast. 

trusted and trustworthy guard! if thou 
hadst life like me, 

What pleasures would thy toils reward be- 
neath the deep green sea ! 

deep sea-diver, who might then behold 
such sights as thou ? — 

The hoary monster's palaces! — Methinks 
what joy 'twere now 

To go plumb-plunging down, amid the assem- 
bly of the whales, 

And feeJ the churned sea round me boil be- 
neath theii scourging tails ! 

Then deep in tangle -woods to fight the fierce 
sea-unicorn, 

And send him foiled and bellowing back, for 
all his ivory horn ; 

To leave the subtle sword er-fish of bony blade 
forlorn ; 

Ai:d for the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh 
his jaws to scorn ; 

To leap down on the kraken's back, where 
'mid No: wegian isles 

£le lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shal- 
lowed miles— 

nii, snorting like an under-sea volcano, ofi' 
he rolls ; 

Meanwhile to swing, a-bufibting the far 
astonished shoals 



Of his back-browsing ocean-calves ; or, hap 
ly, in a cove 

Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some 
Undine's love, 

To-find the long-haired mermaidens ; or, hard 
by icy lands. 

To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon ceru- 
lean sands. 

O broad-armed fisher of the deep ! whose 

sports can equal thine ? 
The dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that 

tugs thy cable line ; 
And night by night 't is thy delight, thy glory 

day by day, 
Through sable sea and breaker white the giant 

game to play. 
But, shamer of our little sports ! forgive the 

name I gave : 
A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine office is to 

save. 
lodger in the sea-kings' halls ! couldst thou 

but understand 
"Whose be the white bones by thy side — or 

who that dripping band. 
Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that 

round about thee bend, 
With sounds like breakers in a dream bless- 
ing their ancient friend — 
Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with 

larger steps round thee, 
Thine iron side would swell with pride— 

thou 'dst leap within the sea ! 

Give honor to their memories who left the 

pleasant strand 
To shed their blood so freely for the love of 

father-land — 
Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy 

churchyard grave 
So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing 

wave ! 
Oh, though our ancJior may not be all I liave 

fondly sung, 
Honor him for their memory whose bones ht" 

goes among ! 

Samuel Ferguson. 



S04 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 

OuE bugles sang truce ; for the night-cloud 
had lowered, 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in 
the sky ; 
And thousands had sunk on the ground over- 
jDowered — 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to 
die. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of 
straw, 
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the 
slain, 
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw. 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it 
again. 

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful 
array 
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 
Twas autumn — and sunshine arose on the 
way 
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed 
me back. 

i iiew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft 
In life's morning march, when my bosom 
was young ; 
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating 
aloft. 
And knew the sweet strain that the corn- 
reapers sung. 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I 
swore 
From my home and my weeping friends 
never to part ; 
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, 
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness 
of heart. 

Stay, stay with us ! — rest ; thou art weary and 
worn! — 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to 
stay; 
But sorrow returned with the dawning of 
morn. 
And the voice in ray dreaming ear melted 
away. 



THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 



It was a summer evening — 
Old Kaspar's work was done, 

And he before his cottage door 
Was sitting in the sun ; 

And by him sported on the green 

His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 



She saw her brother Peterkin 
Roll something large and round, 

Which he beside the rivitlet, 
In playing there, had found ; 

He came to ask what he had found, 

That was so large, and smooth, and round. 



Old Kaspar took it from the boy, 

"Who stood expectant by ; 
And then the old man shook his head. 

And, with a natural sigh — 
" 'T is some poor fellow's skuU." said he 
" Who fell in the great victory. 

IV. 

"I find them in the garden. 
For there 's many here about; 

And often when I go to plough, 
The ploughshare turns them out 

For many thousand men," said he, 

"Were slain in the great victory." 



" Now tell us what 't was all about," 

Young Peterkin he cries ; 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder- waiting eyes — 
"Now tell us all about the war. 
And what they fought each other for ' 



" It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
" Who put the French to rout ; 

But what they fought each other for 
I could not well make out ; 

But every body said," quoth he, 

" That 't was a famous victory 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 



60a 



" My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Yon little stream hard by ; 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 

And he was forced to fly ; 
So with his wife and child he fled, 
Nor had he where to rest his head. 



*' With fire and sword the country round 

Was v/asted far and wide ; 
And many a childing mother there, 

And new-born baby died; 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At QYevj famous victcry. 

IX. 

*' Tliey say it was a shocking sight 

After the field was won — 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun ; 
But things like that, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 



** Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, 
And our good Prince Eugene." 

" Why, 't was a very wicked thing ! " 
Said little Wilhelmine. 

'*Nay — nay — my little girl!" quoth he, 

'' It was a famous victory. 



•' And every body praised the duke, 
Who this great fight did win." 

'* But what good came of it at last ? " 
Quoth little Peterkin. 

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he; 

" But 't was a famous victory." 

Robert Southey. 



As night or day, 
Yet you proud monarchs must obey, 
And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
Death calls ye to the crowd of common 
men. 

Devouring famine, plague, and war. 

Each able to undo mankind. 

Death's servile emissaries are ; 

Nor to these alone confined — 

He hath at will 

More quaint and subtle ways to kill : 

A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 

Shall have the cunning skill to break g 

heart. 

James Shiklst. 



VICTORIOUS MElsT OF EARTH. 

Victorious men of earth, no more 
Proclaim how wide your empires are : 

Thougli you bind in every shore. 
And your triumphs reach as far 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 

This is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling, 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms: 

But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing 
Startles the villages with strange alarms. 

Ah ! what a sound will rise — ^how wild and 
dreary — 
When the death-angel touches those swift 
keys ! 
What loud lament and dismal miserere 
Will mingle with their awful symphonies ! 

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus — 
The cries of agony, the endless groan. 

Which, through the ages that have gone be- 
fore us, 
In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon ham- 
mer; 
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norse- 
man's song ; 
And loud, amid the universal clamor, 

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. 

I hear the Florentine, who from his palace 
Wheels out liis battle-boll with dreadful 
din; 
And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 
Beat the wild war-drums made of serpents' 
skin; 



606 



POEMS OF SE^^TIMENT AND REELECTION. 



The tumult of each sacked and burning Til- 
lage; 
The shout that every prayer for mercy 
drowns ; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage ; 
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ; 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched 
asunder, 

The rattling musketry, the clashing blade — 
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 

The diapason of the cannonade. 

Is it, man, with such discordant noises, 
With such accursed instruments as these, 

Thou drownest nature's sweet and kindly 
voices, 
And jarrest the celestial harmonies ? 

Were half the power that fills the world with 
terror. 
Were half the w^ealth bestowed on camps 
and courts, 
Given to redeem the human mind from error. 
There were no need of arsenals nor forts ; 

The warrior's name would be a name ab- 
horred ; 
And every nation that should lift again 
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 
Would wear forevermore the curse of 
Cain! 

Down the dark future, through long genera- 
tions, 
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then 
cease ; 
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, 
I hear once more the voice of Christ say, 
"Peace!" 

Peace ! — and no longer from its brazen portals 
The blast of war's great organ shakes the 
skies , 
But, beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 

Henry Wadsworth Lonqpellow. 



THE BUCKET 

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my 

childhood. 
When fond recollection presents tliem to 

view ! — 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled 

wildwood. 
And every loved spot which my infancy knew ! 
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that 

stood by it ; 
The bridge, and the rock where the cata 

ract fell ; 
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it; 
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the 

well-- 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the 

well. 

That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treas- 
ure; 
For often at noon, when returned from the field, 
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure — 
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield* 
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were 

glowing, 
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ! 
Then soon, with the emblem of truth over 

flowing, 
And dripping with coolness, it rose from 

the well — 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. 

How sweet from the green, mossy brim to re- 
ceive it, ! 
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips I f 
Not a fuU, blushing goblet could tempt me to 

leave it. 
The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. 
And now, far removed from the loved habi- 
tation, 
The tear of regret will intrusively swell, 
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, 
And sighs for the bucket that hangs in th« 

well — ? 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, j 
The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the | 

weU! I 

Samuel Woodworth, j 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 



007 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S 
PICTURE 

OUT OF NORFOLK:, THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN, 
ANN BODHAM. 

Oh that those lips had language ! Life has 

passed 
With me hut roughly since I heard thee last. 
Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I 

The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; 
Voice only fails — else how distinct they say 
''Grieve not, my child — chase all thy fears 

away!" 
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes 
(Blest be the art that can immortalize, 
The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim 
To quench it !) here shines on me still the 
"same. 
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear ! 

welcome guest, though unexpected here ! 
Who bidst me honor with an artless song, 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 

1 will obey — not Avillingly alone. 

But gladly, as the precept were her own ; 
And, while that face renews my filial grief. 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief — 
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 
A momentary dream that tliou art she. 
My mother ! when I learned that thou wast 
dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son — 
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? 
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss ; 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers — Yes. 
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day ; 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away ; 
And, turning from my nursery window, drew 
'A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu I 
But was it such ? — It was. — Where thou art 

gone 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown ; 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 
Tlie parting word shall pass my lips no more. 
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my con- 
cern. 
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return ; 



What ardently I wished I long believed, 
And, disappointed still, was still deceived — 
By expectation every day beguiled. 
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went. 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent, 
I learned at la«t submission to my lot ; 
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er for- 
got. 
Where once we dwelt our name is heard 
no more — 
Children not thine have trod my nursery 

floor ; 
And where the gardener Robin, day by day, 
Drew me to school aloug the public way — 
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped 
In scarlet mantle warm, and v el vet cap — 
'T is now become a history little known, 
That once we called the pastoral house our 

own. 
Short-lived possession ! but the record fair, 
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, 
Still outlives many a storm that has effaced 
A thousand other themes, less deeply traced : 
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made. 
That thou might'st know me safe and warm- 
ly laid ; 
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home — 
The biscuit, or confectionary plum ; 
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed 
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and 

glowed : 
All this, and, more endearing still than all, 
Thy constant flow of love, that kncAv no fall — 
Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks 
That humor interposed too often makes ; 
All this, still legible in memory's page. 
And still to be so to my latest age. 
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
Such honors to thee as my numbers may — 
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere — 
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed 
here. 
Could time, his flight reversed, restore the 
hours 
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued 

flowers — 
The violet, the pink, the jessamine — 
I pricked them into paper with a pin, 
(And thou wast happier than myself the 
while — 



60S 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTIOJS. 



Wouldst softly speak, and stroke m j head and 

smile) — 
Could those few pleasant days again appear, 
Might one wish hring them, would I wish 

them here ? 
1 would not trust my heart — the dear delight 
Seems so to he desired, perhaps I might. 
But no — what here we call our life is such. 
So little to he loved, and thou so much. 
That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 

Thou — as a gallant bark, from Albion's 
coast, 
TThe storms all weathered and the ocean 

crossed,) 
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle. 
Where spices breathe and brighter seasons 

smile. 
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 
While airs impregnated with incense play 
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay— 
So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached 

the shore 
"Where tempests never beat nor billows 

roar ; " 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
Of life long since has anchored by thy side. 
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 
Always from port withheld, always dis- 
tressed — 
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest- 
tossed. 
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and com- 
pass lost ; 
And day by day some current's thwarting 

force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous 

course. 
Yet oh, the thought that thou art safe, and he ! 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the 

earth ; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents passed into the skies. 
And now, farewell ! — Time, unrevoked, has 

run 
His wonted course; yet what I wished is 
done. 



By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er 

again — 
To have renewed the joys that once were 

mine, 

"Without the sin of violating thine ; 

And, while the wings of fancy still are free, 

And I can view this mimic show of thee. 

Time has but half succeeded in his theft — 

Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me 

left. 

William Cowper, 



THE TKAYELLEE; 

OE, A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY. 

Kemote, unfriended, melancholy, slow. 
Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po, 
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor 
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door. 
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 
A weary waste expanding to the skies : 
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, 
My heart un travelled tbndly turns to thee; 
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, 
And drags at each rem.ove a lengthening 
chain. 

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, 
And round his dwelling guardian saints at- 
tend ! 
Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests re- 
tire 
To pause from toil, and time their evening 

fire! 
Blest that abode, w^here want and pain re- 
pair. 
And every stranger finds a ready chair ! 
Blest be those feasts with simple plenty 

crowned. 
Where all the ruddy family around 
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; 
Or press the bashful stranger to his food. 
And learn the luxury of doing good! 

But me, not destined such dehghts to 
share, 
My prime of life in wandering spent, and 
care ; 



THE TRAVELLER. 



609 



impelled, with steps unceasing, to pursue 
Some fleeting good that mocks me with the 

view, 
That like the circle bounding earth and skies, 
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ; 
My future leads to traverse realms alone. 
And find no spot of all the world my own. 
E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, 
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; 
And, placed on high above the storm's career. 
Look downward where a hundred realms 

appear : 
Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide. 
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler 

pride. 

When thus creation's charms around com- 
bine. 

Amidst the store should thankless pride re- 
pine? 

Say, should the philosophic mind disdam 

That good which makes each humbler bosom 
vain? 

Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can. 

These little things are great to little man ; 

And wiser he whose sympathetic mind 

Exults in all the good of all mankind. 

Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor 
crowned ; 

Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion 
round ; 

Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale ; 

Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale ; 

For me your tributary stores combine. 

Creation's heir, the world — the world is mine ! 

As some lone miser visiting liis store. 
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er. 
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill. 
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still. 
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, 
Pleased with each good that heaven to man 

supplies ; 
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 
To see the sum of human bliss so small : 
And oft I wish, amidst the scene to find 
Some spot to real happiness consigned, 
Where my worn soul, each wandering hope 

at rest, 
May gather bliss to see ray fellows blest. 
81 



But where to find that happiest spot below 
Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? 
The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone 
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own 
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas. 
And his long nights of revelry and ease ; 
The naked negro, planting at the line. 
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, 
And thanks his gods for all the goods thej 

gave. 
Such IS the patriot's boast where'er we roam 
His first, best country, ever is at home. 
And yet perhaps, if countries we compare. 
And estimate the blessings which they share, 
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom 

find 
An equal portion dealt to all mankind ; 
As different good, by art or nature given. 
To difterent nations, makes their blessings 

even. 

Nature, a mother kind alike to all. 
Still grants her bliss at labor's earnest call : 
With food as well the peasant is supphed 
On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shehy side ; 
And though the rocky-crested summits 

frown, 
These rocks by custom turn to beds of down. 
From art more various are the blessings 

sent, — 
Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content. 
Y"et these each other's power so strong con- 
test. 
That either seems destructive of the rest. 
Where wealth and freedom reign, content- 
ment fails. 
And honor sinks where commerce long pre- 
vails. 
Hence every state, to our loved blessing prone, 
Conforms and models life to that alone. 
Each to the favorite happiness attends, 
And spurns the plan that aims ot other end."^, 
Till, carried to excess in each domain, 
This favorite good begets peculiar pam. 

But let us try these truths with closer eye^*, 
And trace them through the prospect as it lies ; 
Here, for a while, my proper cares resigned. 
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind: 



610 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Like yon neglected shrub at random cast, 
That shades the steep, and sighs at every 
blast. 

Far to the right, where Ap en nine ascends. 
Bright as the summer, Italy extends ; 
Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, 
Woods over woods, in gay theatric pride. 
While oft some temple's mouldering tops 

between 
With venerable grandeur mark the scene. 

Could nature's boimty satisfy the breast. 
The sons of Italy were surely blest : 
Whatever fruits in different climes are found. 
That proudly rise, or humbly court the 

ground ; 
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear. 
Whose bright succession decks the varied 

year; 
Whatever sweets salute the northern sky 
With vernal hves, that blossom but to die ; 
These here disporting own the kindred soil, 
IsTor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; 
While sea-born gales their gelid wings ex- 
pand, 
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. 

But small the bliss that sense alone bestows. 
And sensual bliss is all this nation knows. 
In florid beauty groves and fields appear, 
Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. 
Contrasted faults through all his manners 

reign : 
Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, 

vain ; 
Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet un- 
true! 
And e'en in penance planning sins anew. 
All evils here contaminate the mind, 
That opulence departed leaves behind ; 
For wealth was theirs ; not far removed the 

date 
When commerce proudly flourished through 

the state. 
At her command the palace learned to rise, 
Again the long-fallen column sought the skies. 
The canvas glowed, beyond e'en nature warm, 
ri»e pregnant quarry teamed with human 
foi*m : 



Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, 
Commerce on other shores displayed her sail 
While naught remained, of all that richee 

gave. 
But towns unmanned, and lords without a 

slave ; 
And late the nation found, with fruitless 

skill. 
Its former strength was but plethoric ill. 

Yet still the loss of wealth is here suppliea 
By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride ; 
From these the feeble heart and long-fallen 

mind 
An easy compensation seem to find. 
Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp ar- 
rayed, 
The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade ; 
Processions formed for piety and love, 
A mistress or a saint in every grove. 
By sports like these are aU their cares be- 
guiled ; 
The sports of children satisfy the child : 
Each nobler aim, repressed by long contrcJ, 
N'ow sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul ; 
While low delights succeeding fast behind, 
In happier meanness occupy the mind. 
As in those domes where Caesars once bore 

sway. 
Defaced by time, and tottering in decay, 
There in the ruin, heedless of the dead. 
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ; 
And, wondering man could want the larger 

pile. 
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. 

My soul, turn from them ! turn me to sui^- 

vey 
Where rougher climes a nobler race display. 
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion , 

tread, 
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread : 
ISTo product here the barren hills afford , 

But man and steel, the soldier and his sword; 
N'o vernal blooms their torpid rocks array. 
But winter lingering chills the lap of May ; 
No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, 
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms in- 
vest. 



THE TRAVELLER. 



on 



Yet still, even here, content can spread a 

charm, 
Redress the clirae, and all its rage disarm. 
Though poor the peasant's hut, his feast 

though small, 
He sees his little lot the lot of all ; 
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, 
To shame the meanness of his humhle shed ; 
No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal 
To make him loathe his vegetable meal ; 
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil. 
Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. 
Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose. 
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes ; 
With patient angle trolls the finny deep. 
Or drives his venturous ploughshare to the 

steep ; 
Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark 

the way, 
And drags the struggling savage into da^ . 
At night returning, every labor sped, 
He sits him down the monarch of a shed ; 
Smiles by a cheerful fire, and round surveys 
His children's looks that brighten to the 

blaze, 
While his loved partner, boastful of her 

hoard, 
Displays her cleanly platter on the board ; 
And haply too some pilgrim, thither led. 
With many a tale repays the nightly bed. 

Thus every good his native wilds impart. 
Imprints the patriot lesson on his heart ; 
And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise, 
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. 
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms. 
And dear that hill that lifts him to the 

storms ; 
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast. 
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar 
But bind him to his native mountains more. 

Such are the charms to barren states 
': assigned : 

Their wants but few, their wishes all con- 
fined; 
Yet let them only share the praises due,— 
If few their wants, their pleasures are but 
few ; 



For every want that stimulates the breast 
Becomes a source of pleasure when redressed. 
Hence from such lands each pleasing science 

flies. 
That first excites desire and then supplies ; 
Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures 

cloy. 
To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; 
Unknown those powers that raise the soul to 

flame, 
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the 

frame. 
Their level life is but a smouldering fire, 
Nor quenched by want, nor fanned by strong 

desh'e ; 
Unfit for raptures, or if raptures cheer 
On some high festival of once a year. 
In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire. 
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. 

But not their joys alone thus coarsely 

flow, — 
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low : 
For, as refinement stops, from sire to son 
Unaltered, unimproved the manners run ; 
And love's and friendship's finely pointed 

dart 
Fall blunted from each indurated heart. 
Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain'^ 

breast 
May sit like falcons cowering on the nest; 
But all the gentler morals, — such as play 
Through life's more cultured walks, and 

charm the way, — 
These, far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly. 
To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. 

To kinder skies, where gentler manners 
reign, 
I turn, and France displays her bright do- 
main. 
Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can 

please. 
How often have I led thy sportive choir 
With tuneless pipe beside the murmuring 

Loire ! 
When shading elms along the margin grew, 
And freshened from tlio wave, tlie zephyr 
flew; 



&12 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



ii 



AjiC haply, though my harsh touch flattering 
still, 

But mocked all tune and marred the dancer's 
skUl; 

7et would the village praise my wondrous 
power, 

And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. 

Alike all ages: dames of ancient days 

Have led their children through the mirthlul 
maze ; 

And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore, 

Has frisked beneath the burden of three- 
score. 



So blest a life these thoughtless realms 
display, 
Thus idly busy rolls their world away. 
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind en- 
dear. 
For honor forms the social temper here : 
Honor, that praise which real merit gains, 
Or e'en imaginary worth obtains. 
Here passes current ; paid from hand to hand. 
It shifts in splendid traffic round the land ; 
From courts to camps, to cottages it strays. 
And all are taught an avarice of praise : 
They please, ai'e pleased ; they give to get 

esteem ; 
Tin, seeming blest, they gi-ow to what they 
seem. 

But while this softer ai*t their bliss sup- 
phes. 
It gives their follies also room to rise ; 
For praise too dearly loved or warmly sought 
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought ; 
And the weak soul, within itself unblest, 
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. 
Hence ostentation here, with tawdy art. 
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools im- 
part ; 
Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 
And trims her robes of frieze with copper 

lace; 
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, 
To boast one splendid banquet once a year ; 
The mind still turns where shifting fashion 

draws, 
Nor w^eighs the solid worth of self-applause. 



To men of other minds my fancy flies, 
Embosomed in the deep where Holland lies. 
Methinks her patient sons before me stand. 
Where the broad ocean leans against the land- 
And, sedulous to stop the coming tide. 
Lift the taU rampire's artificial pride. 
Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, 
The firm connected bulwark seems to grow, 
Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar, 
Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore ; 
While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, 
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ; 
The slow canal, the yellow-blossomed vale. 
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, 
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, 
A new creation rescued from his reign. 

Thus while around the wave-subjected soil 
Impels the native to repeated toO, 
Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 
And industry begets a love of gain. 
Hence all the good from opulence that springs, 
With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, 
Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth 

imparts 
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; 
But view them closer, craft and fraud appear 
E'en liberty itself is bartered here; 
At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, 
The needy sell it, and the rich man buys. 
A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, 
Here wretches seek dishonorable graves. 
And, calmly bent, to servitude conform, 
Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. 

Heavens ! how unlike their Belgic sires oi 

old! 
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold. 
War in each breast and freedom on each 

brow ; 
How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! 

Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her 

wing, 
And flies where Britain courts the western 

spring; 
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian 

pride, 
And brighter streams than famed Hydaspes 

glide. 



THE TRAVELLER. 



618 



Tliere all around the gentlest breezes stray, 
There gentler music melts on every spray ; 
Creation's mildest charms are there com- 
bined, 
Extremes are only in the master's mind. 

Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, 
With daring aims irregularly great, 
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, 
I see the lords of human kind pass by : 
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band. 
By forms unfashioned, fresh from nature's 

hand, 
j'ierce in their native hardiness of soul. 
True to imagined right above control, — 
While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to 

scan, 
And learns to venerate himself as man. 

Thine, freedom, thine the blessings pictured 
here. 
Thine are those charms that dazzle and en- 
dear ! 
Too blest indeed were such without alloy ; 
But, fostered e'en by freedom, ills annoy ; 
That independence Britons prize too high 
Keeps man from man, and breaks the social 

tie; 
The self-dependent lordlings stand alone. 
All claims that bind and sweeten life un- 
known : 
Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held, 
Minds combat minds, repelling and repelled ; 
Ferments arise, imprisoned factions roar. 
Repressed ambition struggles round her shore. 
Till, overwrought, the general system feels 
Its motion stop, or frenzy fire the wheels. 

Nor this the worst : as nature's ties decay, 
As duty, love, and honor fail to sway, . 
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law. 
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. 
Hence all obedience bows to these alone, 
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ; 
Till time may come when, stripped of all her 

charms. 
The land of scholars and the nurse of arms. 
Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, 
WTiere kings have toiled and poets wrote for 

fame, 



One sink of level avarice shall lie. 

And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonored die. 

But think not, thus when freedom's ills I 
state, 
I mean to flatter kings or court the great ; 
Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire, 
Far from my bosom drive the low desire ! 
And thou, fair freedom, taught alike to feel 
The rabble's rage and tyrant's angry steel ; 
Thou transitory flower, alike undone 
By proud contempt or favor's fostering sun, — 
Still may thy blooms the changeful clime en- 
dure! 
I only would repress them to secure. 
For just experience tells, in every soil. 
That those that think must govern those that 

toil; 
And all that freedom's highest aims can reach 
Is but to lay proportioned loads on each. 
Hence, should one order disproportioned 

grow. 
Its double weight must ruin all below. 

Oh then how blind to all that truth re- 
quires, 
Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! 
Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, 
Except when fast approaching danger warms ; 
But when contending chiefs blockade the 

throne. 
Contracting regal power to stretch their own ; 
When I behold a factious band agree 
To call it freedom when themselves are free, 
Each wanton judge new penal statutes 

draw, 
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the 

law. 
The wealth of climes where savage nations 

roam 
Pillaged from slaves to purchase slaves at 

home, — 
Fear, pity, justice, indignation, start, 
Tear ofl* reserve and bare my swelling heart, 
Till, half a patriot, half a coward grown, 
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. 

Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful 
hour. 
When first ambition struck at regal power; 



d14 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



And thus, poUnting honor in its source, 
Gave wealth to sway the mind with double 

force. 
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled 

shore, 
Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore ? 
Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste. 
Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste ? 
Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, 
Lead stern depopulation in her train, " 
xYnd over fields where scattered hamlets 

rose 
In barren, solitary pomp repose ? 
Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call, 
The smiling, oft-frequented village fall ? 
Beheld the duteous son, the sire decayed, 
The modest matrou, and the blushing maid, 
Forced from their homes, a melancholy 

train, 
To traverse climes beyond the western main. 
Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps 

around, 
And Magara stuns with thundering sound ? 

E'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim 
strays 
Through tangled forests and through danger- 
ous ways. 
Where beasts with man divided empire claim. 
And the brown Indian marks with murder- 
ous aim ; 
There, while above the giddy tempest flies. 
And all around distressful yells arise, 
The pensive exile, bending with his woe, 
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go. 
Casts a loDg look where England's glories 

shine. 
And bids his bosoro sympathize with mine. 

Vain, very vain, my weary seai'ch to find 
That bliss which only c^Bntres in the mind ; 
Why have I strajed from pleasure and re- 
pose. 
To seek a good eaoh governDient bestows ? 
In every governmciit, though terrors reign, 
Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, 
How small, of all that human hearts endure. 
That part which law;3 or kings can cause or ^ 



cm-e? 



Still to ourselves in every place consigned. 

Our own felicity we make or find ; 

With secret course which no loud storms 

annoy 
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 
The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, 
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, 
To men remote from power but rai^ely known, 
Leave reason, faith, and conscience all our 

own. 

Oliver Goldsmith, 



THE DESEETED VILLAGE. 



3 



Sweet Auburn ! h^vcliest village of the plain, 
Where health and plenty cheered the laboring 

swain, 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid. 
And parting summer's lingering blooms de- 
layed ! 
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease — 
Seats of my youth, when every sport conld 

please ! 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green. 
Where humble happiness endeai'ed each 

scene ! 
How often have I paused on every charm — 
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 
The never-failing brook, the busy mill. 
The decent church that topt the neighboring 

hill. 
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the 

shade — 
For talking age and whispering lovers made I 
How often have I blest the coming day, 
When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play, 
And aU the village train, from labor free. 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading 

tree ; 
While many a pastime circled in the shade, 
The young contending as the old surveyed ; 
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 
And sleights of art and feats of strength went 

round ; 
And still as each repeated pleasures tired. 
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired ; 
The dancing pair, that simply sought renowi: 
By holding out, to tire each other down : 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



015 



The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 

While secret laughter tittered round the 
place ; 
/ The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 
■ The matron's glance that would those looks 
reprove : 

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports 
like these, 

With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to 
please ; 

These round thy bowers their cheerful influ- 
ence shed ; 

These were thy charms — but all these charms 
are fled. 



Sweet-smiling village, loveliest of the lawn ! 
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms with- 
drawn ; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green ; 
One only master grasps the whole domain, 
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ; 
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
But, clioked with sedges, works its w^eedy 

way ; 
zilong thy glades, a solitary guest. 
The hollows-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 
Amidst thy desert w^alks the lapwing flies, 
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries ; 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering 

wall; 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's 

hand. 
Far, far away thy children leave the land. 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ; 
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade — 
A breath can make them, as a breath has 

made ; 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride. 
When once destroyed, can never be sup- 
plied. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs be- 
gan, 
Wlien every rood of ground maintained its 
• man: 



For him light labor sprca ! her wholesomr, 

store — 

Just gave- what life ri gave no 

more ; 

Hi§ best companions, inn< I health ; 

And his' best riches, ignur wealth. 

But times are al le's unfeeling 

train 
Usurp the land, and * he swain ; 

Along the lawn, ered hamlets 

rose. 
Unwieldy wealth jus pomp re- 

pose ; 
And every want to luxi.i'y allied, 
And every pang tliat 1 >lly pays to pride. 
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
Those calm desires tliat asked but little room, 
Those healthfi ^ m i< graced the peace- 

ful see 
Lived in eac brightened all the 

green 
These, far d. : a kinder shore. 

And rural iuli;'. dial luanners are no more. 

Sweet All' ant of the blissful hour, 

Thy glades f.jiioi ii ; jnfess the tyrant's pow- 



er. 



Here, a- 

Al]l•'^■• 

Anu 
Wherts ' 



7 solitary rounds 
walks and ruined 

a[)sed. »*^<" 

.'ue stood, uiL 



Remembrance wakes with all lier busy train, 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to 
pain. 

In all my wanderings round this world of 

care. 
In all my griefs — and God has given my 

share — 
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown. 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down • 
To husband out life's taper at the close, 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose ; 
I still had hopes — for pride attends us still — 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learno<^ 

skill. 
Around my Are an evening group to draw, 
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; 



316 



S OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



A.nd, as a hare, /^hora iiounds and horns pur- 
sue, 

Pants to the pi^ce frori whence at first she 
flew, 

I still had liDpCb, jmj lyig vexations past, 

Here to return— and die at home at last. 

O blest retiropaent I friend to life's decline ! 
Retreats froxn care, that never must he mine ! 
How blest ip ]■" wi^r. ,. -owns, in shades like 

these,' 
A youth of laboi- v,-ith a.i age of ease ; 
Who quits a world whci 3 strong temptations 

try, 
And, since 'tis nuid lo ( ombat, learns to fly! 
For him no wretche.^, born to work and 

weep. 
Explore the m^-^ o^ empt the dangerous 

deep; 
No surly porter stands in guilty state, 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; 
But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 
Sinks to the grave with unperceivcd decay, 
^yhile resignation gently slopes the way ; 
And, all his prospects brighteni;ig to the last. 
His heaven commences ere the -world be past. 

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's 
close 

*■ and slow, 
: Lie iiiiiigiing nolcs came sotiened from be- 
low: 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung. 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their 

young, 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool. 
The playful children just let loose from school, 
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whis- 
pering wind. 
And the ioud laugh that spoke the vacant 

mind. 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. 
And filled each pause the nightingale had 

made. 
But now the sounds of population fail ; 
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale ; 
N"© busy steps the grass,- grown footway 

tread — 
But all the bloomy blush ot life is fled. 



All but one widowed, solitary thing. 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring : 

She, wretched matron, forced in age, for 

bread. 
To strip the brook with mantling cresses 

spread, 
To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, 
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn 
She only left of all the harmless train, 
The sad historian of the pensive plain. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden 

smiled. 
And still where many a garden-flowei* grows 

wild. 
There, where a few torn shrubs the placo 

disclose, 
I /^G village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear. 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; I 
Kemote from towns he ran his godly race, 
"Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, 

his place ; 
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power - 

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; I 
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize- 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train; 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their 

pain. 

The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
"Whose beard, descending, swept his aged _ 

breast ; I 

The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims al- 
lowed ; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
Sate by his fire, and talked the night away — 
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow 

done, 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields 

were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned 

to glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride 
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



617 



But in his duty prompt at every call, 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for 

all; 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 

And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dis- 
mayed, 

The reverend champion stood. At his con- 
trol 

Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 

Comfort came down the trembling wretch to 
raise, 

And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double 

sway. 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to 

pray. 
The service past, around the pious man, 
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
E'en children followed, with endearing wile. 
And plucked his gown, to share the good 

man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest ; 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares 

distressed; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs, w^ere 

given — 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in hea- 
ven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the 

storm, 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds 

are spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the 
way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 
The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view — 
i knew him well, and every truant knew ; 



Well had the boding tremblers learned tc 

trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face ; 
Full well they laughed, with counterfeited 



At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 

Full well the busy whisper, circling round, 

Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned; 

Yet he was kind — or, if severe in aught, 

The love he bore to iearning was in fault. 

The village all declared how much he knew ; 

'T was certain he could write, and cipher 
too; 

Lands he could measure, terms and tides pre- 
sage. 

And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill. 

For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue 
still ; 

While words of learned length and thunder- 
ing sound 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder 
grew, 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 

But past is all his fame ; the very spot. 

Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot 

linear yonder thorn, that lifts its head on 

high. 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing 

eye, 
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts 

inspired. 
Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil re- 
tired. 
Where village statesmen talked with looks 

profound, 
And news much older than their ale went 

round. 
Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
The parlor splendors of that festive place : 
The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded 

floor. 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the 

door, 
The chest contrived a double debt to pay — 
A bed by night, a cliest of drawers by day, 
The pictures placed for ornament and use, 
The twelve good rules, the royal game ot 

goose ; 



618 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



The hearth, except when winter chilled the 

day, 
With aspen bonglis, and flowers and fennel 

gay 
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, 
Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 

Vain, transitory splendor ! could not all 
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall ? 
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ; 
Thither no more the peasant shall repair 
To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; 
No more the smith his dusky brow shall 

clear, 
Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to 

hear; 
The host himself no longer shall be found 
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest. 
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
These simple blessings of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 
One native charm than all the gloss of art 
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play. 
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born 

sway; 
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined; 
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth ar- 
rayed — 
[n these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; 
And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy. 
The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy. 

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who sur- 
vey 

The rich mans joys increase, the poor's de- 
cay! 

'T is yours to judge how wide the limits stand 

Between a splendid and a happy land. 

Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted 
ore, 

And shouting folly hails them from her 
shore ; 



Hoards, e'en beyond the miser's wish, abound. 
And rich men flock from all the world around. 
Yet count our gains : this wealth is but a 

name, I 

That leaves our useful products still the same. 
Not so the loss: the man of wealth and 

pride 
Takes up a space that many poor supplied — 
Space for his lake, his park's extended 

bounds — 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
Has robbed the neighboring fields of hali 

their growth ; 
His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; 
Around the world each needful product flies, 
For all the luxuries the world supplies ; 
While thus the land, adorned for pleasure aU 
In barren splendor, feebly waits the fall. 

As some fair female, unadorned and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her 

. reign. 
Slights every borrovred charm that dress sup- 
plies. 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 
But when those charms are past — for charms 

are frail — 
When time advances, and when lovers fail, 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
In all the glaring impotence of dress : 
Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed, 
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed ; 
But, verging to decline, its splendors rise. 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 
While, scourged by famine from the smihng 

land. 
The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; 
And while he sinks, without one arm to rave, 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 

Where then, ah! where, shall poverty re- 
side. 
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 
If, to some common's fenceless limits strayed, 
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth di 

vide, 
And even the bare-worn common is denied. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



619 



If to the city sped, what waits him there ? 
To see profusion that he must not share ; 
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; 
To see each joy the sons of pleasure know 
Extorted from his fellow-creatures' woe. 
Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, 
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 
Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps 

display, 
There the black gibbet glooms beside the 

way. 
The dome where pleasure holds her midnight 

reign, 
Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous 

train ; 
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing 

square — 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy I 
Sure these denote one universal joy ! 
Are these thy serious thoughts ? Ah ! turn 

thine eyes 
Where the poor, houseless, shivering female 

lies: 
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, 
Has wept at tales of innocence distrest ; 
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn. 
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the 

thorn ; 
Now lost to all — ^her friends, her virtue fled — 
JTear her betrayer's door she lays her head ; 
And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from 

the shower, 
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour 
When, idly first, ambitious of the town. 
She left her wheel, and robes of country 

brown. 

Do thine, sweet Auburn — thine the love- 
liest train — 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 
E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread. 

Ah, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene. 
Where half the convex world intrudes be- 
tween. 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they 

go. 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 



Far different there, from all that charmed be- 
fore. 
The various terrors of that horrid shore : 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 
Those matted woods where birds forget to 

sing. 
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 
Those pois'nous fields, with rank luxuriance 

crowned. 
Where the dark scorpion gathers death 

around; 
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless 

Pi-ey, 
And savage men more murderous still than 

they; 
AYhile oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the 

skies. 
Far different these from every former scene — 
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 
The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 
That only sheltered thefts of harmless Jove, 

Good heaven! what sorrows gloomed that 

parting day 
That called them from their native walks 

away; 
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 
Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked 

their last. 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain, 
For seats like these beyond the western main; 
And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
Returned and wept, and still returned to 

weep ! 
The good old sire the first prepared to go 
To new-found worlds, and wept for otherh' 

woe; 
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave. 
He only wished for worlds beyond the grave 
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears. 
The fond companion of his helpless years, 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 
And left a lover's for her fiither's arms. 
With louder plaints the luothei spoke hei 

woes. 
And blessed the cot Avhere every pleasure 

ro»e ; 



520 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



And ki&sed her thougMless babes with many 

a tear. 
And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly 

dear; 
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 
In all the silent manliness of grief. 

luxury ! thou curst by heaven's decree, 
How ill exchanged are things like these for 

thee! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! 
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, 
Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 
At every draught more large and large they 

grow, 
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; 
Till sapped their strength, and every part un- 
sound, 
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin 
round. 

Even now the devastation is begun, 
And half the business of destruction done ; 
Even now, methinks, as pondering here I 

stand, 
r see the rural virtues leave the land. 
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads 

the sail 
That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale — 
Downward they move, a melancholy band, 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the 

strand. 
Contented toil, and hospitable care, 
And kind connubial tenderness are there ; 
And piety with wishes placed above, 
And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 
And thou, sweet poetry, thou loveliest maid. 
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade — 
Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame. 
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ! 
Dear, charming nymph, neglected and decried, 
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ! 
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe— 
That fuund'st me poor at first, and keep'st 

me so! 
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel ! 
Thou nurse of every virtue — fare thee well ! 
Farewell! — and oh! where'er thy voice be 

tried, 
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side— 



"Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, 
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow — 
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 
Eedress the rigors of th' inclement clime ; 
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain; 
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 
Teach him that states, of native strength pos 

sest, 
Though very poor, may still be very blest ; 
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift de 

cay, 
As ocean sweeps the labored mole away ; 
While self-dependent power can time defy, 
As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 



THE BELLS OF SHAN-DOK 

Sabbata pango ; 
Fun^ra plango ; 
Solemnia clang.o. 

Inscription on an old bei.Lb 

With deep affection 
And recollection 
I often think of 

Those Shandon bells. 
Whose sounds so wild would, 
In the days of childhood, 
Fling round my cradle 

Their magic spells. 

On this I ponder 
Where'er I wander. 
And thus grow fonder, 

Sweet Cork, of thee — 
With thy bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

I 've heard bells chiming 
Full many a clime in, 
Tolling sublime in 

Cathedral shrine, 
While at a glibe rate 
Brass tongues would vibrate; 
But all their music 

Spoke naught like thina 



THE BELLS. 



621 



For memory, dwelling 
On each proud swelling 
Of thy belfry, knelling 

Its bold notes free, 
Made the bells of Shandon 
Sound far more grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

I Ve heard bells tolling 
Old Adrian's Mole in, 
Their thunder rolling 

From the Vatican — 
And cymbals glorious 
Swinging uproarious 
In the gorgeous turrets 

Of Kotre Dame ; 

But thy sounds were sweeter 
Than the dome of Peter 
Flings o'er the Tiber, 

Pealing solemnly. 
Oh I the bells of Shandon 
Sound far more grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

There 's a bell in Moscow ; 
While on tower and kiosk oh 
In Saint Sophia 

The Turkman gets. 
And loud in air 
Calls men to prayer, 
From the tapering summit 

Of tall minarets. 

Such empty phantom 
I freely grant them ; 
But there 's an anthem 

More dear to me — 
'T is the bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

Father Prout. (Francis Mahony.) 



THE BELLS. 

Heae the sledges with the bells — 

Silver bells— [tells! 

What a world of merriment their melody fore- 
LIow they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. 

In the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 

With a crystalline delight — 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the 
bells. 

IT. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells — 
Golden bells ! 
What a world of happiness their harmony 
foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight ! 
From the molten-golden notes, 

And all in tune, 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she 
gloats 
On the moon ! 
Oh, from out the sounding ceUs, 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells 1 
How it swells ! 
How it dwells 
On the Future ! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing 

Of the bells, bells, bells. 
Of the bells, bells, behs, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the 
bells. 

III. 
Hear the loud alarum bells — 
Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, thoir tnrbulenc} 
tells I 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright 



622 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Too much horrified to speak. 
They can only shriek, shriek, 
Out of tune, 
[n the clamorous appealing to the mercy ot 

the fire, 
Fn a mad expostulation ^ith the deaf and 
frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
"With a desperate desire. 
And a resolute endeavor, 
NTow — now to sit or never. 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells. 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of despair! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
Yet the ear it fully knows. 
By the twanging, 
And the clanging. 
How the danger ebbs and flows ; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells. 
In the jangling, 
And the wrangling. 
How the danger sinks and swells. 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger 
of the bells — 

Of the bells— 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells — 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 



Hear the tolling of *:he bells- 
Iron bells ! 
Vr'i^t a world of solemn thought their mon- 
ody compels ! 
In the silence of the night, 
How we shiver with affright 
A.t the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone, 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling. 

In that muflled monotone. 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone — 



They are neither man nor woman- 
They are neither brute nor human- 

They are ghouls : 
And their king it is who tolls ; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls. 
Bolls, 
A psean from the bells ! 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the p^ean of the bells ! 
And he dances and he yells ; 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
To the psean of the bells— 
Of the bells : 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 

To the throbbing of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells — 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time. 

As he knells, knells, knells, 
In a happy Runic rhyme. 

To the rolling of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells— 
To the tolling of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells — 
Bells, bells, bells— 
To the moaning and the groaning of the 
Ki>QA5 Allan 



beiLd. 
Pon. 



THOSE EYEiSrmO BELLS. 

Those evening beUs ! those evening bells ! 
How many a tale their music tells, 
Of yonth, and home, and that sweet time 
When last I heard their soothing chime! 

Those joyous hours are passed away ; 
And many a heart that then was gay, 
Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
And hears no more those evening bells. 

And so 'twill be when I am gone* • 
That tuneful peal will still ring on ; 
While other bards shall walk these deJls, 
And sing your praise, sweet evening belia 

THOMAfi MCOBF 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 



623 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST; 

.•)!?, THE POWER OF MUSIC. — AN ODE IN HONOE 

OF ST. Cecilia's day. 

'T WAS at the royal feast for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son : 
Aloft, in awful state, 
The godlike hero sate 

On his imperial throne ; 
His valiant peers were placed around, 
Their brows with roses and with myrtles 

hound ; 
(So should desert in arms be crowned) ; 
The lovely Thais by his side 
Sate, like a blooming eastern bride, 
In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 
Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave. 
None but the brave deserves the fair. 

CHORUS. 

Happy ^ happy ^ happy pair ! 

Xone tut the hrave^ 

None 'but the Irave^ 
None hut the h^ave deserves the fair. 

Timotheus, placed on high 
Amid the tuneful quire, 
With flying fingers touched the lyre ; 
The trembling notes ascend the sky, 

And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from Jove, 
Who left his blissful seats above, 
(Such is the power of mighty Love). 
A dragon's fiery form belied the god ; 
Sublime on radiant spires he rode. 
When he to fair Olympia pressed, 
And while he sought her snowy breast ; 
Then, round her slender waist he curled. 
And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign 

of the world. 
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound — 
A present deity ! they shout around ; 
A present deity ! the vaulted roofs rebound. 
With ravished ears 
The monarcli hears, 
Assumes the god. 
Affects to nod, 
And seems to shake the spheres. 



CHORUS. 

With ravished ears 
The monarch hears^ 

Assumes the god^ 

Affects to nod^ 
And seems to shalce the spheres. 

The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musi- 
cian sung — 
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young ; 
The jolly god in triumph comes : 
Sound the trumpets ; beat the drums ! 
Flushed with a purple grace, 
He shows his honest face ; 
Now give the hautboys breath^he comes. 
he comes ! 
Bacchus, ever fair and young. 

Drinking joys did first ordain; 
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; 
Drinking is the soldiers' pleasure : 
Eich the treasure, 
Sweet the pleasure ; 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 

CHORUS. 

Bacchus'' Messing s are a treasure ; 
DrinTcing is the soldier"* s pleasure : 

Eich the treasure^ 

Sweet the pleasure ; 
Sweet is pleasure after pain'. 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 

Fought all his battles o'er again ; 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice 
he slew the slain. 
The master saw the madness rise — 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 
And, while he heaven and earth defied, 
Changed his hand, and checked his pride. 

He chose a mournful muse, 

Soft pity to infuse, 
He sung Darius great and good, 

By too severe a fate 
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen — 
Fallen from his high estate. 

And weltering in his blood ; 
Deserted, at his utmost need. 
By those his former bounty fed ; 
On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
With not a friend to close his eyes. 
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate 



624 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



Eevolving in his altered soul 

The various turns of chance below ; 

And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; 
And tears began to flow. 

CHORUS. 

Rewlmng in Ms altered soul 

The 'carious turns of chance 'below ; 

And^ now and then^ a sigh he stole; 
And tears began tofloic. 

The mighty master smiled, to see 
That love was in the next degree ; 
'T was but a kindred sound to move. 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 
Honor but an empty bubble — 

IN^ever ending, still beginning — 
Fighting still, and still destroying ; 

If the world be worth thy winning. 
Think, oh think it worth enjoying ! 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee — 
Take the goods the gods provide thee. 
The many rend the sky with loud applause ; 
So love was crowned, but music won the 
cause. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care, 
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, 
Sighed and looked, and sighed again. 
At length, with love and wine at once op- 
pressed. 
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 

OHOEUS. 

The prince unable to conceal his pain^ 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused Ms care^ 
And sighed and loolced^ sighed and looTced^ 
Sighed and loolced^ and sighed again. 
At lengthy with love and wine at once oppressed^ 
The vanquished victor sunlc upon her breast. 

Now strike the golden lyre again — 

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! 

Break his bands of sleep asunder. 

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 



Hark, hark I the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head ! 
As awaked from the dead, 
And amazed, he stares around. 
Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries; 
See the Furies arise ! 
See the snakes that they rear. 
How they hiss in their hair, 
And the sparkles that flash from their 
eyes! 
Behold a ghastly band, 
Each a torch in his hand ! 
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were 
slain. 

And unburied remain, 
Inglorious, on the plain ! 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew. 
Behold how they toss their torches on 
high. 
How they point to the Persian abodes. 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! 
The princes applaud with a furious joy. 
And the king seized a flambeau with zeal ♦"- 
destroy ; 

Thais led the way 
To light him to his prey. 
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. 

CHOEUS. 

And the Mng seized a flambeau with zeal tc 
destroy ; 

Thais led the icay 
To light him to Ms prey, 
And^ nice another Helen., fired another Troy. 



Thus, long ago— ; 

Ere heaving bellows learned to blow. 

While organs yet were mute — 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute. 
And sounding lyre, 
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle sol" J 
desire. 
At last divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store. 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds. 
With nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown 
before. 



THE PASSIONS. 



625 



Let old Timotbeus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown ; 
He raised a mortal to the skies — 

She drew an angel down. 

GRAND CHORUS. 

At last divine Cecilia came^ 
Inventress of the weal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast^ from her sacred store^ 
Enlarged the former narrow hounds^ 
And added length to solemn sounds^ 
With nature'*s mother-wit^ and arts miknown 
l)efore. 
Let old Timotheus yield the prize^ 

Or 'both divide the crown ; 
He raised a mortal to the sTcies — 
She dreio an angel down, 

John Deydek. 



INFLUENCE OF MUSIC. 

Orpheus, with his lute, made trees. 
And the mountain-tops that freeze. 

Bow themselves when he did sing ; 
To his music plants and flowers 
Ever sprung — as sun and showers 

There had made a lasting Spring. 

Every thing that heard him play, 
Even the billows of the sea, 

Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
In sweet music is such art, 
Killing care, and grief of heart — 

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die ! 

Shakespeare. 



MUSIC. 



Oh, lull me, lull me, charming air I 

My senses rock with wonder sweet ! 
Like snow on wool thy fallings are ; 
Soft, like a spirit's, are thy feet. 
Grief who need fear 
That hath an ear ? 
Down let him lie, 
And slumbering die, 
And change his soul for harmony. 

William Strode. 
83 



THE PASSIONS. 

AN ODE FOR MUSIC. 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung, 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Thronged around her magic cell — 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting — 
Possest beyond the muse's painting ; 
By turns they felt the growing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; 
Till once, 't is said, when all were fii-ed. 
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatched her instruments of sound : 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
Each (for madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive povrer. 

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, 
Amid the chords bewildered laid, 

And back recoiled, he knew not why, 
E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger rushed ; his eyes, on fire, 
In lightnings owned his secret stings : 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre. 
And swept with hurried hand the strings. 

With woful measures wan Despair, 
Low, sullen sounds, his grief beguiled — 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 
'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild. 

But thou, Hope, with eyes so fair — 

What was thy delightful measure? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure. 
And bade the lovely scenes at distance 
hail! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong; 

And from the rocks, the woods, tlio vale. 
She called on Echo still, through all the 
song; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at 
every close ; 
And Hope enchanted, smiled, and waved 
her golden hair. 



526 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTlO JS-. 



And longer had she sung— but, with a 
frown, 
Kevenge nnpatient rose; 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thun- 
der down ; 
And, with a withering look, 
The war-denouncing trumpet took. 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 
And, ever and anon, he beat 
The doubling drum, with furious heat : 
And though sometimes, each dreary pause 
between, 
Dejected Pity, at his side, 
Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mein. 
While each strained ball of sight seemed 
bursting from his head. 
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were 
fixed — 
Sad proof of thy distressful state ; 
Of differing themes the veering song was 
mixed ; 
And now it courted love — now, rav- 
ing, called on Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired. 
Pale Melancholy sate retired ; 
And, from her wild sequestered seat. 
In notes by distance made more sweet, 
Poured through the mellow horn her pen- 
sive soul ; 
And, dashing soft from rocks around, 
Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled 
measure stole ; 
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond 
delay, 
Eound an holy calm diffusing. 
Love of peace, and lonely musing, 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

lUn oh! how altered was its sprightlier tone 
Wlien Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest 
hue, 
Her bow across her shoulder flung. 
Her buskins gemmod with morning dew, 
Hlew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket 
rung— 
Tlie hunter's call, to faun and dryad 
known! 



The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste 
eyed queen. 
Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen, 
Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; 

And Sport leapt up, and seized his beeohen 
spear. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : 
He, with viny crown advancing. 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest ; 
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the 
best; 
They would have thought, who heard the 
strain. 
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 
Amidst the festal sounding shades, 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing. 
While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, 
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic roimd: 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone un^ 
bound ; _ 

And he, amidst his frolic play, || 

As if he would the charming air repay, 
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wingc. 

Music ! sphere-descended maid. 
Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid ! 
Why, goddess ! why, to us denied, 
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? 
As, in that loved Athenian bower, 
You learned an all commanding power, 
Thy mimic soul, nymph endeared. 
Can well recall what then it heard ; 
Where is thy native simple heart. 
Devote to virtue, fancy, art ? 
Arise, as in that elder time. 
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! 
Thy wonders, in that godlike age, 
Fill thy recording sister's page ; 
'T is said — and I believe the tale — 
Thy humblest reed could more prevail^ 
Had more of strength, diviner rage. 
Than all which charms this laggard age- 
E'en all at once together found — 
Cecilia's mingled world of sound. 
Oh bid our vain endeavors cease ; 
Kevive the just designs of Greece ! 
Return in all thy simple state — 
Confirm the tales her sons relate ! 

William OoLLiua 



TO A LADY WITH A GUITAR. 



627 



TO A LADY WITH A GUITAR. 

Aeiel to Miranda : —-Take 

r>iis slave of music, for tlie sake 

Of him who is the slave of thee; 

And teach it all the harmony 

In which thou canst, and only thou. 

Make the delighted spirit glow, 

Till joy denies itself agam, 

And, too intense, is turned to pain. 

For by permission and command 

Of thine own prince Ferdinand, 

Poor Ariel sends this silent token 

Of more than ever can be spoken ; 

Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who 

From life to life must still pursue 

Your happiness, for thus alone 

Can Ariel ever find his own. 

From Prosperous enchanted cell, 

As the mighty verses tell. 

To the throne of Naples he 

Lit you o'er the trackless sea. 

Flitting on, your prow before. 

Like a living meteor. 

When you die, the silent moon 

In her interlunar swoon 

Is not sadder in her cell 

Than deserted Ariel ; 

When you live again on earth, 

Like an unseen star of birth 

Ariel guides you o'er the sea 

Of life from your nativity. 

Many changes have been run 

Since Ferdinand and you begun 

Your course of love, and Ariel still 

Has tracked your steps and served your will. 

Now in humbler, happier lot. 
This is all remembered not ; 
And now, alas! the poor sprite is 
Imprisoned for some fault of his 
In a body like a grave — 
From you he only dares to crave 
For his service and his sorrow 
A smile to-day, a song to-morrow. 

Che artist who this viol wrought 
To echo all harmonious thought, 



Felled a tree, while on the steep 

The woods were in their winter sleep. 

Rocked in that repose divine 

Pn the wind-swept Apennine; 

And dreaming, some of autumn past. 

And some of spring approaching fast, 

And some of April buds and siiowers, 

And some of songs in July bowers. 

And all of love ; and so this tree — 

Oh, that such our death may be! — 

Died in sleep, and felt no pain. 

To live in happier form again ; 

From which, beneath heaven's fairest star, 

The artist wrought this loved guitar ; 

And taught it justly to reply 

To all who question skilfully 

In language gentle as thine own ; 

Whispering in enamored tone 

Sweet oracles of woods and dells, 

And summer winds in sylvan cells. 

For it had learned all harmonies 

Of the plains and of the skies, 

Of the forests and the mountains, 

And the many-voiced fountains ; 

The clearest echoes of the hills. 

The softest notes of falling rills, 

The melodies of birds and bees. 

The murmuring of summer seas. 

And pattering rain, and breathing dew, 

And airs of evening ; and it knew 

That seldom-heard mysterious sound 

Which, driven on its diurnal round, 

As it floats through boundless day 

Our world enkindles on its way. 

All this it knows, but wUl not tell 
To those who cannot question well 
The spirit that inhabits it ; 
It talks according to the wit 
Of its companions ; and no more 
Is heard than has been felt before 
By those who tempt it to betray 
These secrets of an elder day. 
But, sweetly as its answers will 
Flatter hands of perfect skill, 
It keeps its highest holiest tone 
For one beloved friend alone. 

Percy Byssiib Shullxy. 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



TO CONSTANTIA— SINGING. 

Tnus to be lost, and thus to sink and die, | 
Perchance were death indeed ! — Constan- 
tia, turn! 
In thy dark eyes a power .ike light doth lie, 
Even though the sounds which were thy 
voice, which burn 
Between thy lips, are laid to sleep ; 
Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like 
odor it is yet, 
And from thy touch like fire doth leap. 
Even while I write, my burning cheeks are 

wet — 
Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not 
forget ! 

A breathless awe hke the swift change, 
Unseen but felt, in youthful slumbers. 

Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange, 
Thou breath est now in fast ascending num- 
bers. 

The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven 
By the enchantment of thy strain ; 

And on my shoulders wings are woven. 
To follow its sublime career 

Beyond the mighty moons that wane 
Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere, 
Till the world's shadowy walls are past and 
disappear. 

Her voice is hovering o'er my soul — it hngers, 
Overshadowing it with soft and lulling 
wings ; 

The blood and life within those snowy fingers 
Teach witchcraft to the instrumental 
strings. 

My brain is wild, my breath comes quick — 
The blood is listening in my frame ; 

And thronging shadows, fast and thick. 
Fall on my overflowing eyes ; 

My heart is quivering like a flame ; 
As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, 
I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies. 

I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee ; 
Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy 
song 
Flows on, and fills all things with melody. 



NTow is thy voice a tempest, swift and 
strong, 
On which, like one in trance upborne. 

Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, 
Eejoicing like a cloud of morn. 

Now 't is the breath of summer night, 
Which, when the starry waters sleep, 

Eound western isles, with incense-blossom? 

bright. 
Lingering, suspends my soul in its volup- 
tuous flight. 

Peecy Btsshe Shellet 



ON A LADY SINGING. 

Oft as my lady sang for me 

That song of the lost one tliat sleeps by the 

sea. 
Of the grave on the rock, and the cypress 
tree, 
Strauge was the pleasure that over mc 

stole. 
For 't vras made of old sadness that lives ir^ 
my soul. 

So still grew my heart at each tender 

word 
That the pulse in my bosom scarcely 

stirred. 
And I hardly breathed, but only heard. 
Where was I? — not in the world of men, 
Until she awoke nie with silence again. 

Like the smell of the vine, when its early 

bloom 
Sprinkles the green lane with sunny per- 
fume. 
Such a delicate fragrance filled the room. 
Whether it came from the vine without, 
Or arose from her presence, I dwell in 
doubt. 

Light shadows played on the pictured 

wall 
From the m.aples that fluttered outside the 

hall. 
And hindered the dayhght — yet ah! nof 
all; 
Too little for that all the forest would be— 
Such a sunbeam she was, and is, to rae ' 



WOMAN'S VOICE. 



629 



Wlien my sense returned, as the song was 

o'er, 
I fain would have said to her, " Sing it once 

more ; " 
But soon as she smiled my wish I forbore : 
Music enough in her look I found, 
knd the hush of her lip seemed sweet as the 
sound. 

Thomas William Paesons. 



A CANADIAN BOAT SO^G. 

Et remigem eantus hortatur. 

QUINTILTAN. 

Faintly as tolls the evening chime, 
Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. 
Soon as the woods on shore look dim, 
We '11 sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. 
Row, brothers, row ! the stream runs fast, 
The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past ! 

Why sho'ild we yet our sail unfarl ? — 
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl. 
But when the wind blows off the ishore 
Oh ! sweetly we '11 rest our weary oar. 
Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast. 
The rapids are near, and the dayhght's past! 

Utawa's tide ! this trembling moon 
Shall see us float over thy surges soon. 
Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers — 
Oh ! grant us cool heavens and favoring airs ! 
Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast. 
The rapids are near, and the dayhght 's past! 

Thoma8 Moore. 



EGYPTIAInT serei^ade. 

Sing again the song you sung 
When we were together young — 
When there were but you and I 
Underneath the summer sky. 

Sing the song, and o'er and o'er, 
Though I know that nevermore 
Will it seem the song you sung 
When we were together young. 

Gborgk William Ouetis. 



WOMAN'S VOICE. 

'' Her voice was ever low, 
Gentle and soft — an excellent thing in woman." 

King Leaiu 

ISToT in the swaying of the summer trees, 
When evening breezes sing their vesper 
hymn — 
Not in the minstrel's mighty symphonies, 

Nor ripples breaking on the river's brim, 
Is earth's best music ; these may move awhile 
High thoughts in happy hearts, and carking 
cares beguile. 

But even as the swallow's silken wings, 
Skimming the water of the sleeping lake, 

Stir the still silver with a hundred rings — 
So doth one sound the sleeping spirit wake 

To brave the danger, and to bear the harm — 

A low and gentle voice — dear woman's chief- 
est charm. 

An excellent thing it is, and ever lent 
To truth and love, and meekness ; they 
who own 
This gift, by the all-gracious Giver sent. 

Ever by quiet step and smile are known ; 
By kind eyes that have wept, hearts that have 

sorrowed — 
By patience never tired, from their own trials 
borrowed. 

An excellent thing it is, when first in glad- 
ness 
A. mother looks into her infant's eyes. 
Smiles to its smiles, and saddens to its sad- 
ness 
Pales at its paleness, sorrows at its cries ; 
Its food and sleep, and smiles and little joys — 
All these come ever blent with one low gen- 
tle voice. 

An excellent thing it is when life is leaving. 
Leaving with gloom and gladness, joys and 
cares, 
The strong heart failing, and the high soul 
grieving 
With strangest thoughts, and Avith unwont- 
ed fears ; 



530 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Then, then a woman's low soft sympathy 
Comes like an angel's voice to teach us how 
to die. 

But a most excellent thing it is in youth, 
When the fond lover hears the loved one's 
tone, 
That fears, but longs, to syllable the truth — 
How their two hearts are one, and she his 
own; 
It makes sweet human music — oh ! the spells 
That haunt the trembhng tale a bright-eyed 
maiden tells ! 

Edwin Arnold. 



SONG. 



Still to be neat, still to be drest, 

As you were going to a feast ; 

Still to be powdered, still perfumed — 

Lady, it is to be presumed, 

Though art's hid causes are not found, 

All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a look, give me a face, 
That makes simplicity a grace ; 
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free — 
Such sweet neglect more taketh me 
Than all the adulteries of art ; 
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 

Ben Jonson. 



DELIGHT m DISORDER. 

A SWEET disorder in the dress 

Kindles in clothes a wantonness : 

A lawn about the shoulders thrown 

Into a fine distraction — 

An erring lace, which here and there 

Enthralls the crimson stomacher — 

A cuff neglectful, and thereby 

Ribbons to flow confusedly — 

A winning wave, deserving note, 

In the tempestuous petticoat — 

A careless shoe string, in whose tie 

I see a wild civility — 

Do more bewitch me than when art 

Is too precise in every part. 

KOBERT IlERniCK. 



HEBE. 

I SAW the twinkle of white feet, 

I saw the flash of robes descending ; 

Before her ran an influence fleet. 

That bowed my heart like barley bending. 

As, in bare fields, the searching bees 
Pilot to blooms beyond our finding, 
It led me on — ^by sweet degrees, 
Joy's simple honey cells unbinding. 

Those graces were that seemed grim fates ; 
With nearer love the sky leaned o'er me ; 
The long sought secret's golden gates 
On musical hinges swung before me. 

I saw the brimmed bowl in her grasp 
Thrilling with godhood ; like a lover, 
I sprang the proffered life to clasp — 
The beaker fell ; the luck was over. 

The earth has drunk the vintage up ; 
That boots it patch the goblet's splinters ? 
Can summer fill the icy cup 
Whose treacherous crystal is but winter's ? 

spendthrift haste ! await the gods ; 
Their nectar crowns the lips of patience. 
Haste scatters on unthankful sods 
The immortal gift in vain libations. 

Coy Hebe flies from those that woo, 
And shuns the hands would seize upon her *. 
Follow thy life, and she will sue 
To pour for thee the cup of honor. 

James Russell Lowbt.l. 



SONNTET. 

'T IS much immortal beauty to admire, 
But more immortal beauty to withstand ; 
The perfect soul can overcome desire, 
If beauty with divine delight be scanned. 
For what is beauty, but the blooming child 
Of fair Olympus, that in night must end. 
And be for ever from that bliss exiled, 
If admiration stand too much its friend ? 



THE OLD MAID. 



686 



The roots of spectral beeches ; 
Again the hearth-fire glimmers o'er 
Home's white-washed wall and painted 

floor, 
And young eyes widening to the lore 

Of faery-folks and witches. 

Dear heart ! — the legend is not vain 
Which lights that holy hearth again ; 
And, calling back from care and pain, 

And death's funereal sadness. 
Draws round its old familiar blaze 
The clustering groups of happier days, 
And lends to sober manhood's gaze 

A glimpse of childish gladness. 

And, knowing how my life hath been 
A weary work of tongue and pen, 
A long, harsh strife, with strong-willed 
men, 

Thou wilt not chide my turning 
To con, at times, an idle rhyme. 
To pluck a flower from childhood's clime. 
Or listen, at life's noonday chime. 

For the sweet bells of morning ! 

John Greenleaf Whittikr. 



THE OLD MAID. 

Why sits she thus in solitude ? Her heart 

Seems melting in her eyes' delicious blue ; 
And as it heaves, her ripe lips lie apart. 

As if to let its heavy throbbings through ; 
In her dark eye a depth of softness swells, 
Deeeper than that her careless girlhood 
wore; 
And her cheek crim»uiis with tlie hue that 
tells 

The rich, fair fruit is ripened to the core. 

* 

IL is her thirtieth birthday I With a sigh 
Her soul hath turned from youth's luxuri- 
ant bowers, 
And her heart taken up the last sweet tie 
That measured out its links of golden 
hours ! 



She feels her inmost soul within her stir 
With thoughts too wild and passionate to 
speak ; 

Yet her full heart- its own interpreter — 
Translates itself in silence on her cheek 

Joy's opening buds, affection's glowing flovr- 
ers, 
Once lightly sprang within her beaming 
track ; 
Oh, life was beautiful in those lost hours 1 

And yet she does not wish to wander back ; 
'Ro ! she but loves in loneliness to think 
On pleasures past, though never more to 
be ; 
Hope links her to the future — but the link 
That binds her to the past is memory. 

From her lone path she never turns aside, 
Though passionate worshippers before lier 
fall; 
Like some pure planet in her lonely pride, 

She seems to soar and beam above them all. 
ISTot that her heart is cold — emotions new 
And fresh as flowers are with her heart- 
strings knit ; 
And sweetly mournful pleasures wander 
through 
Her virgin soul, and softly ruffle it. 

For she hath lived with heart and soul alive 

To all that makes life beautiful and fair ; 
Sweet thoughts, like honey-bees, have made 
their hive 

Of lier soft bosom-cell, and cluster there. 
Yet life is not to her what it hath been — 

Iler soul hath learned to look beyond its 
gloss; 
And now she hovers, like a star, between 

Her deeds of love, her Saviour on the cross ! 

Beneath the cares of earth she does not bow, 

Though she hath ofttimes drained its bit- 
ter cup ; 
But ever wanders on with heavenward brow, 

And eyes whose lovely lids are lifted up. 
She feels that in that lovelier, happier sphere 

Her bosom yet will, bird-like, find its mate, 
And all the joys it found so blissful hero 

Within that spirit-realm perpetuate. 



536 



POEMS OF SENTIMi^NT AND REFLECTlOiN. 



Vet sometimes o'er her trembling heart- 
strings thrill 
Soft sighs — for raptures it hath ne'er en- 
joyed ; 
And then she dreams of love, and strives to fill 
With wild and passionate thoughts the 
craving void. 
And ^hus she wanders on — half sad, half 
blest — 
Without a mate for the pure, lonely heart 
That, yearning, throbs within her virgin 
breast, 
I^ever to find its lovely counterpart ! 

AMEI.TA B. WeLBY. 



MOTHER MARGERY. 

On a bleak ridge, from whose granite edges 

Sloped the rough land to the grisly north ; 
And whose hemlocks, clinging to the ledges, 

Like a thinned banditti staggered forth — 
[n a crouching, wormy-timbered hamlet 

Mother Margery shivered in the cold, 
With a tattered robe of faded camlet 

On her shoulders — crooked, w^eak, and old. 

Time on her had done his cruel pleasure ; 

For her face was very dry and thin, 
And the records of his growing measure 

Lined and cross-lined all her shrivelled skin. 
Scanty goods to her had been allotted, 

Yet her thanks rose oftener than desire ; 
While her bony fingers, bent and knotted, 

Fed with withered twigs the dying fire. 

Raw and weary were the northern winters ; 

Winds howled piteously around her cot, 
Or with rude sighs made the jarring splinters 

Moan the misery she bemoaned not. 
Drifting tempests rattled at her windows. 

And hung snow-WTcaths around her naked 
bed; 
V^ vile the wind-flaws muttered on the cinders, 

Till the last spark fluttered and was dead. 

Life had fresher hopes w^hen she was younger, 
But their dying wrung out no complaints; 

Chill, and penury, and neglect, s,nd hunger — 
These to Margery were guardian saints. 



When she sat, her head was, prayer-like, 
bending ; 
When she rose, it rose not any more ; 
Faster seemed her true heart graveward 
tending 
Than her tired feet, weak and travel-sore. 



She was mother of the dead and scattered- 
Had been mother of the brave and fair ; 

But her branches, bough by bough, were 
shattered. 
Till her torn breast was left dry and 
bare. 

Yet she knew, though sadly desolated, 
When the children of the poor depart 

Their earth- vestures are but sublimated. 
So to gather closer :n the heart. 

With a courage that had never fitted 

Words to speak it to the soul it blessed, 
She endured, in silence and unpitied. 

Woes enough to mar a stouter breast. 
Thus was born such holy trust within her, 

That the graves of all Avho had been dear, 
To a region clearer and serener. 

Raised her spirit from our chilly sphere. 

They were footsteps on her Jacob's ladder ; 

Angels to her were the loves and hcpes 
Which had left her purified, but sadder : 

And they lured her to the emerald slopes 
Of that heaven where anguish never flashes 

Her red fire-whips, — happy land, where 
flowers 
Blossom over the volcanic ashes 

Of this blighting, blighted world of ours . 

All her power was a love of goodness ; 

All her wisdom was a mystic faith 
That the rough world's jargoning and rude- 
ness 
Turns to music at the gate of death. 
So she walked while feeble limbs allowed 
her, 
Knowing well that any stubborn grief 
She might meet with could no more thcin 
crowd her 
To that wall whose opening was relief 



THE NYMPH'S SONG. 



687 



So she lived, an anchoress of sorrow, 

Lone and peaceful, on the rocky slope ; 
And, when burning trials came, would bor- 
row 
'New fire of them for the lamp of hope. 
When at last her palsied hand, in groping, 

Rattled tremulous at the grated tomb, 
Heaven flashed round her joys beyond her 
hoping, 
And her young soul gladdened into bloom. 
George S. Burleigh. 



THE NYMPH'S SONG. 

Gentle swain, good speed befall thee ; 

And in love still prosper thou ! 
Future times shall happy call thee. 

Though thou lie neglected now. 
Virtue's lovers shall commend thee, 
And perpetual fame attend thee. 

Happy are these woody mountains, 
In whose shadows thou dost hide ; 

And as happy are those fountains 
By whose murmurs thou dost bide : 

For contents are here excelling, 

More than in a prince's dwelhng. 

These thy flocks do clothing bring thee. 
And thy food out of the fields ; 

Pretty songs the birds do sing thee ; 
Sweet perfumes the meadow yields ; 

And what more is worth the seeing. 

Heaven and earth thy prospect being ? 

None comes hither who denies thee 
Thy contentments for despite • 

Neither any that envies thee 
That wherein tho'i dost delight : 

But all happy things are meant thee; 

And whatever may content thee. 

lljy affection reason measures, 
And distempers none it feeds ; 

Still so liarmless are thy pleasures 
That no other's grief it breeds ; 

And if night beget thee sorrow, 

Seldom stays it till the morrow. 



Why do foolish men so vainly 
Seek contentment in their store, 

Since they may perceive so plainly 
Thou art rich in being poor — 

And that they are vexed about it. 

Whilst thou merry art without it ? 

Why are idle brains devising 
How high titles may be gained. 

Since by those poor toys despising 
Thou hast higher things obtained? 

For the man who scorns to crave them 

Greater is than they that have them. 

If all men could taste that sweetness 
Thou dost in thy me-anness know. 

Kings woU'ld be to seek where greatness 
And their honors to bestow ; 

For it such content would breed them 

As they would not think they need them. 

And if those who so aspiring 

To the court preferments be, 
Knew how worthy the desiring 

Those things are enjoyed by thee. 
Wealth and titles would hereafter 
Subjects be for scorn and laughter. 

He that courtly styles afi*ected 

Should a May-lord's honor have- 
He that heaps of wealth collected 

Should be counted as a slave ; 
And the man with few'st things cumbered 
With the noblest should be numbered. 

Thou their folly hast discerned 
That neglect thy mind and thee ; 

And to slight them thou hast learned, 
Of what title e'er they be ; 

That no more with thee obtaineth 

Than Avith them thy meanness gaineth. 

All their riches, honors, pleasures, 

Poor unworthy trifles seem, 
If compared with thy treasures — 

And do merit no esteem ; 
For they true contents provide theo, 
' And from them can none divide thee. 



POEMS 0¥ SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Whether thralled or exiled, 
"Whether poor or rich thou be — 

Whether praised or reviled, 
Il^ot a rush it is to thee ; 

This nor that thy rest doth win thee, 

But the mind which is within thee. 

Then, oh why so madly dote we 
On those things that us overload ? 

Why no more their vainness note we, 
But still make of them a god ? 

For, alas ! they still deceive us, 

And in greatest need they leave us. 

Therefore have the fates provided 
Well, thou happy swain, for thee. 

That may'st here so far divided 
From the world's distractions be. 

Thee distemper let them never. 

But in peace continue ever. 

In these lonely groves enjoy thou 
That contentment here begun ; 

And thy hours so pleased employ thou, 
Till the latest glass be run. 

From a fortune so assured 

By no temptings be allured. 

Much good do 't them, with their glories, 
Who in courts of princes dwell ; 

We have read in antique stories 
IIow some rose and how they fell — 

And 't is worthy vf ell the heeding, 

There 's like end where 's like proceeding. 

Be thou stiU in thy affection 

To thy noble mistress true ; 
Let her never-matched perfection 

Be the same unto thy view ; 
And let never other beauty 
Make thee fail in love or duty. 

For if thou shalt not estranged 
From thy course professed be, 

But remain for aye unchanged, 
Nothing shall have power on thee. 

Those that slight thee now shall love thee. 

And in spite of spite approve thee. 



So those virtues now neglected 
To be more esteemed will come ; 

Yea those toys so much affected 
Many shall be wooed from ; 

And the golden age deplored 

Shall by some be thought restored. 

George Wri-iiEC. 



ON ANAOBEON. 

Aeouxd the tomb, bard divine. 

Where soft thy hallowed brow reposes, 

Long may the deathless ivy twine, 
And summer pour her waste of roses ^ 

And many a fount shall there distil, 
And many a rill refresh the flowers ; 

But wine shall gush in every rill, 

And every fount yield milky showers. 

Thus — shade of him whom nature taught 

To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure — 
Who gave to love his warmest thought, 

Who gave to love his fondest measure- 
Thus, after death if spirits feel 

Thou may' st from odors round thee stream- 
ing, 
A pulse of past enjoyment steal, 

x\nd live again in blissful dreaming. 

Antipatee of Sidon, (Greek.) 
Paraphrase of Thomas Mooee. 



AN EPITAPH ON THE ADMIRABLE 
DPvAMATIO POET W. SHAKESPEAPvE. 

What needs my Shakespeare for his honorerl 

bones — 
The labor of an age in piled stones ? 
Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid 
Under a starry-pointing pyramid ? 
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, 
What need'st thou such weak witness of th^ 

name ? 
Thou in our wonder and astonishment 
Hast built thyself a live-long monument. 



LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN. 



639 



For wliilst to the shame of slow-endeavoring 

art 
Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart 
Hatli from the leaves of thy unvalued hook 
Those Delphic lines with deep impression 

took, 
Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, 
Dost make us marble with too much conceiv- 
ing; 
And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie 
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die. 

John Milton. 



SHAKESPEARE. 

How little fades from earth when sink to rest 

The hours and cares that move a great man's 
breast ! 

Though nought of all we saw the grave may 
spare. 

His life pervades the world's impregnate air; 

Tliough Shakespeare's dust beneath our foot- 
steps lies. 

His spirit breathes amid his native skies; 

With meaning won from him for ever glows 

Each air that England feels, and star it 
knows ; 

His whispered words from many a mother's 
voice 

Can make her sleeping child in dreams re- 
joice ; 

And gleams from spheres he first conjoined 
to earth 

Are blent with rays of each new morning's 
birth. 

Amid the sights and tales of common things, 

Leaf, flower, and bird, and wars, and deaths 
of kings, — 

Of shore, and sea, and nature's daily round. 

Of life that tills, and tombs that load, the 
ground. 

His visions mingle, swell, command, pace by, 

And haunt with living presence heart and eye ; 

Vnd tones from him, by other bosoms caught. 

Awaken flush and stir of motmting thought; 

And the long sigh, and deep impassioned 
thrill. 

Rouse custom's trance and spur the faltering 
will. 



Above the goodly land, more his than ours. 
He sits supreme, enthroned in skyey towers , 
And sees the heroic brood of his creation 
Teach larger life to his ennobled nation. 
shaping brain ! O flashing fancy's hues ! 
O boundless heart, kept fresh by pity's dewsl 
wit humane and blithe! sense sublime! 
For each dim oracle of mantled time ! 
Transcendant form of man! in whom we 

read 
Mankind's whole tale of impulse, thought 

and deed ! 
Amid the expanse of years, beholding thee. 
We know how vast our world of life may be ; 
Wherein, perchance, with aims as pure as 

thine, 
Small tasks and strengths may be no less di- 
vine. 

John Sterling 



LINES ON THE l^IEEMAID TAVERN. 

Souls of poets dead and gone, 
What Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern, 
Choicer than the Mermaid tavern ? 
Have ye tippled drink more fine 
Than mine host's Canary wine ? 
Or are fruits of Paradise 
Sweeter than those dainty pies 
Of venison ? generous food I 
Drest as though bold Robin Hood 
Would, with Ills maid Marian, 
Sup and bowse from horn and can. 

I have heard that on a day 
Mine host's sign-board flew away, 
Nobody knew whither, till 
An astrologer's old quill 
To a sheepskin gave the story, — 
Said he saw you in your glory. 
Underneath a new old-sign 
Sipping beverage divine. 
And pledging with contented smack, 
The Mermaid in the zodiac. 

Souls of poets dead and gone. 
What Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern. 
Choicer than the Mermaid tavern ? 

John Kiats. 



«40 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND EEFLEGTION. 



AN ODE— TO HIMSELF. 

Wheee dosi ^hou careless lie 

Buried in ease and sloth ? 
Knowledge that sleeps, doth die : 
And this security, 

It is the common moth 
That eats on wits and arts, and so destroys 

them hoth. 

Are all the Aonian springs 
Dried up ? lies Thespia waste ? 

Doth Clarius' harp want strings, 

That not a nymph now sings? 
Or droop they as disgraced 
To see their seats and bowers by chattering 
pies defaced? 

If hence thy silence be, 

As 't is too just a cause — 
Let this thought quicken thee ; 
Minds that are great and free 

Should not on fortune pause ; 
'T is crown enough to virtue still, her own 

applause. 

What though the greedy fry 

Be taken with false baits 
Of worded balladry, 
And think it poesy ? 

They die with their conceits, 
And only piteous scorn upon their folly 

waits. 

Then take in hand thy lyre. 

Strike in thy proper strain ; 
With Japhet's line aspire 
Sol's chariot for new fire 

To give the world again ; 
Who aided him, will thee, the issue of 

Jove's brain. 

And since our dainty age 

Cannot endure reproof, 
Make not thyself a page 
To that strumpet, the stage ; 

But sing high and aloof 

Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the 

dull ass's hoof. 

Ben Jonson. 



THE SHEPHERD'S HUNTING 



AN ECLOGUE. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Pliilareie on Willy calls^ 

To sing out Ids pastorals ; 

Warrants fame shall grace Ms rhyrr^% 

''Spite of eimy and the times; 

And sheics how in care he uses 

To ta/ce comfort from his muses. 



PJiilarete ; Willy. 

PHILAEETE. 

Peythee, Willy! tell me this — 
What new accident there is 
That thou, once the blithest lad, 
Art become so wondrous sad, 
And so careless of thy quill, 
As if thou hadst lost thy skill ? 
Thou wert wont to charm thy flockt 
And among the massy rocks 
Hast so cheered me with thy song 
That I have forgot my wrong. 
Something hath thee surely crost. 
That thy old wont thou hast lost. 
Tell me — ^have I ought mis-said, 
That hath made thee ill-apaid ? 
Hath some churl done thee a spite ? 
Dost thou miss a lamb to-night ? 
Frowns thy fairest shepherd's lass? 
Or how comes this ill to pass ? 
Is there any discontent 
Worse than this my banishment? 

Willy. 

Why, doth that so evil seem 
That thou nothing worse dost deem? 
Shepherds there full many be 
That will change contents with thee ; 
Those that choose their walks at wiU, 
On the valley or the hill — 
Or those pleasures boast of can 
Groves or fields may yield to man — 
Never come to know the rest. 
Wherewithal thy mind is blest. 
Many a one that oft resorts 
To make up the troop at sportii. 



i 



THE SHEPHERD'S HUNTINa 



64] 



And in company some while 
Happens to strain forth a smile, 
Feels moi e want and outward smart, 
And more inward grief of heart, 
Than this place can bring to thee, 
While thy mind remaineth free. 
Thou bewail'st my want of mirth — 
But what find'st thou in this earth 
Wherein aught may be believed 
Worth to make me joyed or grieved? 
And yet feel I, naitheless, 
Part of both I must confess. 
Sometime I of mirth do borrow- 
Otherwhile as much of sorrow ; 
But my present state is such 
As nor joy nor grieve I much. 

PniLAEETE. 

Why hath Willy then so long 
Thus forborne his wonted song ? 
Wherefore doth he now let fall 
His well- tuned pastoral, 
And my ears that music bar 
Which I more long after far 
Til an the liberty I want ? 



That were very much to grant. 
But doth this hold alway, lad — 
Those that sing not must be sad ? 
Didst thou ever that bird hear 
Sing well that sings all the year? 
Tom the piper doth not play 
Till he wears his pipe away — 
There's a time to slack the string, 
And a time to leave to sing. 

PniLAEETE. 

Yea I but no man now is still 
That can sing or tune a quill. 
Kow to chaunt it were but reason- 
Song and music are in season. 
Now, in this sweet jolly tide, 
Is the earth in all her pride ; 
The fair lady of the May, 
Trimmed up in her best array, 
Hath invited all the swains, 
With the lasses of the plains, 
To attend upon her sport 
At the places of resort. 
85 



Coridon, with his bold rout, 

Hath already been about 

For the elder shepherd's dole. 

And fetched in the summer-pole ; 

Whilst the rest have built a bower 

To defend them from a shower — 

Coiled so close, with boughs all green, 

Titan cannot pry between. 

Now the dairy wenches dream 

Of their strawberries and cream ; 

And each doth herself advance 

To be taken in to dance ; 

Every one that knows to sing 

Fits him for his carolling ; 

So do those that hope for meed 

Either by the pipe or reed ; 

And, though I am kept away, 

I do hear, this very day, 

Many learned grooms do wend 

For the garlands to contend ; 

Which a nymph, that liight Desert, 

Long a stranger in this part, 

With her own fair hand hath wrought- 

A rare work, they say, past thought, 

As appeareth by the name. 

For she calls them wreaths of fame. 

She hath set in their due place 

Every flower that may grace ; 

And among a thousand moe, 

Whereof some but serve for show, 

She hath wove in Daphne's tree, 

That they may not blasted be ; 

Which Y/ith time she edged about, 

Lest the work should ravel out ; 

And that it might wither never, 

Intermixed it with live- ever. 

These are to be shared among 

Those that do excel for song. 

Or their passions can rehearse 

In the smooth'st and sweetest vei-se. 

Then for those among the rest 

That can play and pipe the best, ^ 

There's a kidling with the dam, 

A fat wether and a lamb. 

And for those that leapen far. 

Wrestle, run, and throw the bar, 

There's appointed guerdons too : 

He that best the first can do 

Shall for his reward bo paid 

With a sheep-hook, fair inlaid 



o42 



POEMS OF SENTIMEXT AND REFLECTION 



With fine bone of a strange beast 
That men bring out of the west ; 
For the next a scrip of red, 
Tasselled with fine colored thread ; 
There's prepared for their meed 
That in running make most speed, 
Or the cunning measures foot, 
Cups of turned maple-root. 
Whereupon the skilful man 
Hath engraved the loves of Pan ; 
And the last hath for his due 
A fine napkin wrought with blue. 
Then, my Willy, why art thou 
Careless of thy merit now ? 
What dost thou here, with a wight 
That is shut up from delight 
In a solitary den, 
As not fit to live with men ? 
Go, my Willy ! get thee gone — 
Leave me in exile alone ; 
Hie thee to that merry throng. 
And amaze them with thy song ! 
Thou art young, yet such a lay 
Never graced the month of May; 
As, if they provoke thy skill, 
Thou canst fit unto thy quill. 
I with wonder heard thee sing 
At our last year's revelling. 
Then I with the rest was free. 
When, unknown, I noted thee, 
And perceived the ruder swains 
Envy thy far sweeter strains. 
Yea, I saw the lasses cling 
Eound about thee in a ring. 
As if each one jealous were 
Any but herself should hear ; 
And I know they yet do long 
For the residue of thy song. 
Haste thee then to sing it forth ; 
Take the benefit of worth ; 
And Desert will sure bequeath 
^ Fame's fair garland for thy wreath 
Hie thee, Willy ! hie away. 



WILLY. 

Phila! rather let me stay, 
And be desolate with thee. 
Than at those their revels be. 
Naught such is my skill, I wis. 
As indeed thou deem'st it is ; 



But whate'er it be, I must 
Be content, and shall, I trust. 
For a song I do not pass 
'Mongst my friends; but what, alas! 
Should I have to do with them 
That my music do contemn? 
Some there are, as well I wot, 
That the same yet favor not ; 
Yet I cannot well avow 
They my carols disallow ; 
But such malice I have spied, 
'T is as much as if they did. 

PHILAKETE. 

Willy ! what may those men bo 
Are so ill to malice thee ? 

WILLY. 

Some are worthy-well esteemed ; 
Some without worth, are so deemed ; 
Others of so base a spirit 
They have nor esteem nor merit 

PHILAEETE. 

What's the wrong ? . . . . 



WILLY. 

A slight offence, 

Wherewithal I can dispense ; 
But hereafter, for their sake, 
To myself I '11 music make. 

PHILAEETE. 

What, because some clown offends, 
Wilt thou punish all thy friends ? 

WILLY. 

Do not, Phil ! misunderstand me — 
Those that love me may command me ; 
But thou know'st I am but young, 
And the pastoral I sung 
Is by some supposed to be, 
By a strain, too high for me ; 
So they kindly let me gain 
Not my labor for my pain. 
Trust me, I do wonder why 
They should me my own deny. 
Though I 'm young, I scorn to flit 
On the wings of borrowed wit ; 
1 11 make my own feathers rear me. 
Whither others cannot bear me. 



THE SHEPHERD'S HUNTING. 



64 i^ 



Yet I '11 keep my skill in store, 
Till I Ve seen some winters more. 



PHILAEETE. 

But in earnest mean'st thou so? — 

Then thou art not wise, I trow : 

Better shall advise thee Pan, 

For thou dost not rightly then; 

That 's the ready way to hlot 

All the credit thou hast got. 

Rather in thy age's prime 

Get another start of time ; 

And make those that so fond be, 

Spite of their own dulness, see 

That the sacred muses can 

Make a child in years a man. 

It is known what thou canst do ; 

For it is not long ago, 

When that Guddy, thou and I, 

Each the other's skill to try. 

At Saint Dunstan's charmed well. 

As some present there can tell. 

Sang upon a sudden theme, 

Sitting by the crimson stream ; 

Where if thou didst well or no 

Yet remains the song to show. 

Much experience more I 've had 

Gf thy skill, thou happy lad ; 

And would make the world to know it, 

But that time will further show it. 

Envy makes their tongues now run, 

More than doubt of what is done ; 

For that needs must be thine own, 

Gr to be some other's known ; 

But how then v/ill 't suit unto 

What thou shalt hereafter do ? 

Gr I wonder where is he 

Would with that song part with thee ! 

Kay, were there so mad a swain 

Could such glory sell for gain, 

Phoebus would not have combined 

That gift with so base a mind. 

Never did the nine impart 

Tlie sweet secrets of their art 

Unto any that did scorn 

We should see their favors worn. 

Therefore, unto those tliat say 

Were they pleased to sing a lay 

They could do 't, and will not tho' 

This I speik. for this I know — 



Kone e'er drank the Thespian spring. 

And knew how, but he did sing ; 

For, that once infused in man, 

Makes him shew 't, do what he can ; 

Kay, those that do only sip, 

Gr but e'en their fingers dip 

In that sacred fount, poor elves ! 

Gf that brood will show themselves. 

Yea, in hope to get them fame, 

They will speak, though to their shame, 

Let those, then, at thee repine 

That by their wits measure thine ; 

Keeds those songs must be thine own^ 

And that one day will be known. 

That poor imputation, too, 

I myself do undergo ; 

But it will appear, ere long, 

That 't was envy sought our wrong, 

Who, at twice ten, have sung more 

Than some will do at four score. 

Cheer thee, honest Willy ! then, 

And begin thy song again. 

WILLY. 

Fain I would ; but I do fear, 
When again my lines they hear, 
If they yield they are my rhymes, 
They will feign some other crimes ; 
And 'tis no safe venturing by 
Where we see detraction lie ; 
For, do what I can, I doubt 
She will pick some quarrel out ; 
And I oft have heard defended 
Little said is soon amended. 

PHILAEETE. 

See'st thou not, in clearest days 

Gft thick fogs cloud heaven's rays? 

And that vapors, which do breathe 

From the earth's gross womb beneatb. 

Seem unto us with black steams 

To pollute the sun's bright beams — 

And yet vanish into air. 

Leaving it, unblemished, fair? 

So, my Willy, shall it be 

With detraction's breath on thee — 

It shall never rise so high 

As to stain thy poesy. 

As that sun doth oft exhale 

Vapors from each rotten vale. 



344 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REELECTION. 



Poesy so sometimes drains 

Gross conceits from muddy brains — 

Mists of envy, fogs of spite, 

Twixt men's judgments and her light; 

But so much her power may do 

That she can dissolve them too. 

If thy verse do bravely tower. 

As she makes wing she gets power ; 

Yet the higher she doth soar 

She 's affronted still the more, 

Till she to the high'st hath past , 

Then she rests with fame at last. 

Let naught, therefore, thee affright. 

But make forward in thy flight. 

For, if I could match thy rhyme. 

To the very stars I 'd climb ; 

There begin again, and fly 

Till I reached eternity. 

But, alas ! my muse is slow — 

For thy place she flags too low ; 

Yea — the more 's her hapless fate-^ 

Her short wings were dipt of late ; 

And poor I, her fortune ruing, 

And myself put up a-mewing. 

But if I my cage can rid, 

I '11 fly where I never did ; 

And though for her sake I'm crost, 

Though my best hopes I have lost. 

And knew she would make my trouble 

Ten times more than ten times double, 

I should love and keep her too, 

'Spite of all the world could do. 

For, though banished from my flocks. 

And confined within these rocks, 

Here I waste away the light. 

And consume the sullen night, 

She doth for my comfort stay, 

And keeps many cares away. 

Though I miss the flow'ry fields. 

With those sweets the spring - tide 

yields — 
Though I may not see these groves 
Where the shepherds cliaunt their loves, 
And the lasses more excel 
Than the sweet-voiced Philomel — 
Though of all those pleasures past 
Nothing now remains at last 
But remembrance, ])ocrr relief. 
That more makes than mends my grief — 
She 's my mind's companion still, 
Maugre envy's evil will ; 



Whence she should be driven too, 

Were 't in mortal's power to do. 

She doth tell me where to borrow 

Comfort in the midst of sorrow. 

Makes the desolatest place 

To her presence be a grace. 

And the blackest discontents 

To be pleasing ornaments. 

In my former days of bliss 

Her divine skill taught me this — 

That from every thing I saw 

I could some invention draw, 

And raise pleasure to her height 

Through the meanest object's siglit; 

By the murmur of a spring. 

Or the least bough's rusteling — 

By a daisy, whose leaves, spread, 

Shut when Titan goes to bed— 

Or a shady bush or tree. 

She could more infuse in me 

Than all nature's beauties can 

In some other wiser man. 

By her help I also now 

Make this churlish place allow 

Some things that may sweeten gladnesF 

In tlie very gall of sadness : 

The dull loneness, the black shade 

That these hanging-vaults have made; 

The strange music of the waves. 

Beating on these hoUow caves ; 

This black den, which rocks emboss. 

Overgrown w^ith eldest moss ; 

The rude portals that give light 

More to terror than delight ; 

This my chamber of neglect. 

Walled about with disrespect ; — - 

From all these, and this dull air, 

A fit object for despair. 

She hath taught me, by her might, 

To draw comfort and delight. 

Therefore, thou best earthly bliss ! 

I will cherish thee for this. 

Poesy, thou sweet'st content 

That e'er heaven to mortals lent ! 

Though they as a trifle leave thee 

Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive 

thee — 
Though thou be to tliem a 'icorn 
That to naught but earth are born — 
Let my life no longer be 
Than I am in love with thee : 



COWPER'S GRAVE 



C4C 



Though our wise ones call thee madness, 
Let me never taste of gladness 
If I love not thj madd'st fits 
More than all their greatest wits ; 
And though some, too seeming holv. 
Do account thy raptures folly, 
Thou dost teach me to contemn 
What makes knaves and fools of them. 

high power ! that oft doth carry 
Men above 

WILLY. 

. . . . Good Philarete, tarry ! 

1 do fear thou wilt be gone 
Quite above my reach anon. 
The kind flames of poesy 

Have now borne thy thoughts so high 

That they up in heaven be, 

And have quite forgotten me. 

Call thyself to mind again — 

Are these raptures for a swain 

That attends on lowly sheep. 

And with simple herds doth keep ? 

PHILAEETE. 

Thanks, my Willy ! I had run 
Till that time had lodged the sun, 
If thou hadst not made me stay ; 
But tl y pardon here I pray ; 
Loved Apollo's sacred sire 
Had raised up my spirits higher, 
Through the love of poesy. 
Than indeed they use to fly. 
But as I said I say still — 
Ifthat I had Willy's skill 
Envy nor detraction's tongue 
Should e'er make me leave my song ; 
But I 'd sing it every day, 
Till they pined themselves away. 
Be thou then advised in this. 
Which both just and fitting is — 
Finish what thou hast begun, 
Or at least still forward rim. 
Hail and thunder ill he '11 bear 
That a blast of wind doth fear ; 
And if words will thus aff'ray thee, 
Pry thee how will deeds dismay thee ? 
Do not think so rathe a song 
Can pass through the vulgar throng. 
And escape without a touch — 
Or that they can hurt it much. 



Frosts we see do nip that thing 
Which is forward'st in the spring; 
Yet at last, for all such lets, 
Somewhat of the rest it gets ; 
And I 'm sure that so mayst thou. 
Therefore, my kind Willy, now, 
Since thy folding-time draws on, 
And I see thou must be gone, 
Thee I earnestly beseech 
To remember this my speech, 
And some little counsel take. 
For Philarete his sake ; 
And I more of this will say, 
If thou come next holiday. 

Geokge WrmEK, 



COWPER'S GEAYE. 

I will invite thee, from thy envious hearse 

To rise, and 'bout the world thy beams to spread, 

That w^e may gee there's brightness in the dead. 

Harrington 

It is a place where poets crowned 

May feel the heart's decaying — 
It is a place where happy saints 

May weep amid their praying ; 
Yet let the grief and humbleness, 

As low as silence, languish — 
Earth surely now may give her calm 

To whom she gave her anguish. 

O poets ! from a maniac's tongue 

Was poured the deathless singing I 
O Christians ! at your cross of hope 

A hopeless hand was clinging ! 
men ! this man, in brotherhood, 

Your weary paths beguiling. 
Groaned inly while he taught you peace, 

And died while ye were smiling! 

And now, what time ye all may read 

Through dimming tears his story — 
How discord on the music fell, 

And darkness on the glory — 
And how, when one by one, sweet sounds 

And wandering lights departed, 
He wore no less a loving face, 

Because so broken-hearted — 



546 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



He shall be strong to sao'^^tify 

The poet's high vocarion, 
And how the meekest Christian down 

In meeker adoration ; 
Nor ever shall he be in praise 

By wise or good forsaken — 
Named softly, as the household name 

Of one whom God hath taken ! 

With sadness that is calm, not gloom, 

I learn to think upon him ; 
With meekness that is gratefulness, 

On God whose heaven hath won him — 
Who suffered once the madness-cloud 

Toward his love to blind him ; 
But gently led the blind along 

Where breath and bird could find him ; 

And wrought within his shattered brain 

Such quick poetic senses 
As hills have language for, and stars 

Harmonious influences ! 
The pulse of dew upon the grass, 

His own did calmly number ; 
And silent shadow from the trees 

Fell o'er him like a slumber. 

The very world, by God's constraint, 

From falsehood's chill removing, 
Its women and its men became, 

Beside him, true and loving ! — 
And timid hares were drawn from woods 

To share his home-caresses, 
Uplooking to his human eyes 

With sylvan tendernesses. 

But while in blindness he remained 

Unconscious of the guiding. 
And things provided came without 

The sweet sense of providing, 
He testified this solemn truth, 

Though frenzy desolated — 
Nor man nor nature satisfy. 

When only God created ! 

Like a sick child that knoweth not 

His mother while she bless^es. 
And droppeth on liis burning brow 

The coolness of her kisses • 



That turns his fevered eyes around — 
" My mother ! where 's my mother ? "— 

As if such tender words and looks 
Could come from any other — 

The fever gone, with leaps of heart 

He sees her bending o'er him ; 
Her face all pale from watchful love, 

Th' unweary love she bore him ! 
Thus woke the poet from the dream 

His life's long fever gave him. 
Beneath these deep pathetic eyes 

Which closed in death to save him ! 

Thus ! oh, not thus ! no type of earth 

Could image that awaking. 
Wherein he scarcely heard the chant 

Of seraphs, round him breaking — 
Or felt the new immortal throb 

Of soul from body parted ; 
But felt those eyes alone, and knew 

" My Saviour ! not deserted ! " 

Deserted ! who hath dreamt that when 

The cross in darkness rested. 
Upon the victim's hidden face 

No love was manifested ? 
What frantic hands outstretched have e'er 

The atoning drops averted — 
What tears have washed them from the 
soul — 

That one should be deserted ? 

Deserted ! God could separate 

From His own essence rather; 
And Adam's sins have swept between 

The righteous Son and Father — 
Yea! once, Immanuel's orphaned cry 

His universe hath shaken — 
It went up single, echoless, 

" My God, I am forsaken ! " 

It went up from the holy lips 

Amid His lost creation, 
That of the lost no son should use 

Those words of desolation ; 
That earth's worst frenzies, marring hope* 

Should mar not hope's fruition ; 
And I, on Cowper's grave, should see 

His rapture, in a vision ! 

Elizabeth Bakrett Rro^^ninu 



THE VISION. 



G4'] 



THE VISION. 



DUAN FIEST. 



The sun had closed the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roaring play, 
An' hungered raauldn ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step hetray 

Whar she has been. 

The thresher's weary flingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And whan the day had closed his ee, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the spence right pensivelie 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle- cheek, 
I sat and eyed the spewing reek, 
That filled, wi' hoast-provoking smeek. 

The auld clay biggin ; 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 

About tlie riggin'. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 

I backrt^ard mused on wasted time — 

How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

An' done nae thing 
But stringin' blethers up in rhyme. 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market. 
Or strutted in a bank and clarkit 

My cash-account ; 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit. 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, muttering, "blockhead! coof!" 
And heaved on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aitli. 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme proof 

Till my last breath — 

When click ! the string the snick did draw ; 
And jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
An' by my ingle lowe I saw. 

Now bleezin' bright, 
A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 



Ye need na doubt I held my whist — 
The infant aith, half-formed, was crusht , 
I glowered as eerie 's I 'd been dush't 

In some wild glen, 
When sweet like modest worth, she blusht. 

And stepped ben 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows ; 
I took her for some Scottish muse 

By that same token. 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken. 

A "hair-brained sentimental trace '^ 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildy-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turned on empty space, 

Beamed keen with honor. 

Down flowed her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg! — my bonnie Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and cleaii, 

ISTane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue. 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand. 
And seemed, to my astonished view, 

A well-known land. 

Here rivers in the sea were lost ; 

There mountains to the skies were tost ; 

Here tumbling billows marked the coast 

With surging foam ; 
There distant shone art's lofty boast. 

The lordly dome. 

Here Doou poured down his far-fetched floods* 
There well-fed Irwine stately thuds ; 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient borough reared her head: 



648 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Still, as in Scottish, story read. 

She boasts a race 
To every nobler virtue bred, 

And polished grace. 

By stately tower or palace fair, 

Or ruins pendent in the air, 

Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seemed to muse — some seemed to dare. 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 

To see a race heroic wheel, 

And brandish round the deep-dyed steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seemed to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 

His country's saviour, mark him well ! 
Bold Kichardton's heroic swell ; 
The chief on Sark who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptered Pictish shade 
Stalked round his ashes lowly laid, 
I marked a martial race, portrayed 

In colors strong; 
Bold, soldier-featured, undismayed, 

They strode along. 

TTirough many a wild, romantic grove, 
Near many a hermit-fancied cove 
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love). 

In musing mood. 
An aged judge, I saw him rove. 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned sire and son I saw : 
To nature's God and nature's law 

They gave their lore ; 
This, all its source and end to draw — 

That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave ward I well could spy 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye, 
Who called on fame, low standuig oy 

To hand him on 
Where many a patriot-name on high, 

And hero shone. 



DIJAN SECOND. 

With musing deep, astonished stare, 
I viewed the heavenly-seeming fair ; 
A whispering throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet, 
When, with an elder sister's air. 

She did me greet : — 

All hail ! my own inspired bard 
In me thy native muse regard j 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

Know the great genius of this land 
Has many a light aerial band, 
Who, all beneath his high command. 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand. 

Their labors ply. 

They Scotia's race among them share : 
Some fire the soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the patriot up to bare 
Corruption's heart ; 
Some teach the bard — a darling care - 
■ The tuneful art. 

'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore 
They ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
Or 'mid the venal senate's roar 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest patriot lore, 

And grace the land. 

And when the bard, or hoary sage. 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
They bind the wild poetic rage 

In energy. 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

Hence FuUarton, the brave and young , 
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue; 
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His minstrel lays ; 
Or tore, with noble ardor stung, 

Tlie sceptic's bays. 



THE VISION 



649 



To lower orders are assigned 

The humbler ranks of human kind: 

The rustic bard, the lab'ring hind, 

The artisan — 
AH choose, as various they 're inclined, 

The various man. 

When yellow waves the heavy grain. 
The threatening storm some strongly rein ; 
Some teach to meliorate the plain 

Y/ith tillage skill; 
And some insti'uct the shepherd train, 

Blythe o'er the hill. 

Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 
Some sooth the lab'rer's weary toil 

For humble gains, 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

Some, bounded to a district-space, 
Exj)lore at large man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace, 

Of rustic bard ; 
And careful note each op'ning grace — 

A guide and guard. 

Of these am I — Coila my name ; 

And this district as mine I claim. 

Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame. 

Held ruling pow'r; 
T marked thy embryo tuneful flame, 

Thy natal hour. 

With future hope I oft would gaze, 
Fond, on thy little early ways. 
Thy rudely carolled, chiming phrase 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fired at the simple artless lays 

Of other times. 

I saw thee seek the sounding shore. 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the north his fleecy store 

Drove through the sky, 
I saw grim nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 

Or when the deep green-mantled earth 
Warm cherished every flow'ret's birth, 



And joy and music pouring forth 

In every grove, 
I saw thee eye the general mirth 

With boundless love. 

When ripened fields and azure skies 
Called forth the reapers' rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their evening joys, 

And lonely stalk 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong. 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along. 
Those accents grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 

To sooth thy flame. 

I saw thy pulse's maddening play 
Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by fancy's meteor ray. 

By passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from heaven, 

I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
The loves, the ways of simple swains — 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends, 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains. 

Become tby friends. 

Thou canst not learn, nor can I show. 
To paint with Thomson's landscape gkw; 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 

With Shenstone's art ; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

Yet all beneath th' unrivalled rose 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

Though large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade. 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows 

Adown the glade. 

Then never murmur nor repine ; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 
And trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

ISTor kings' regard. 
Can give a bliss o'crmatching thine, 

A rustic bard. 



B50 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



To give my counsels all in one — 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ^ 
Preserve the dignity of man, 

With soul erect ; 
And trust the universal plan 

Will all protect. 

And wear thou this! — she solemn said, 
And bound the holly round my head ; 
The polished leaves and berries red 

Did rustling play — 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 

KOBEET BUENS. 



ON THE DEATH OF BUPvFS. 

Reae high thy bleak majestic hills, 

Thy sheltered valleys proudly spread — 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, ' 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 
But, ah ! what poet now shall tread 

Thy any heights, thy woodland reign, 
Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead. 

That ever breathed the soothing strain ? 

As green thy towering pines may grow. 

As clear thy streams may speed along, 
As bright thy summer suns may glow, 

As gayly charm thy feathery throng ; 
But now unheeded is the song, 

And dull and lifeless all around — 
For his wild harp lies all unstrung, 

And cold the hand that waked its sound. 

What though thy vigorous offspring rise — 

In arts, in arms, thy sons excel ; 
Though beauty in thy daughters' eyes, 

And health in every feature dwell ; 
Yet vho shall now their praises tell 

In strains impassioned, fond, and free, 
Since he no more the song shall swell 

To love, and liberty, and thee ! 

Wiih step-dame eye and frown severe 
His hapless youth why didst thou view? 

For all thy joys to him were dear, 
And all his vows to thee were due ; 



N'or greater bliss his bosom knew. 
In opening youth's delightful prime, 

Than when thy favoring ear he drew 
To listen to his chanted rhyme. 

Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies 

To him were all with rapture fraught ^ 
He heard with joy the tempest rise 

That waked him to sublimer thought ; 
And oft thy winding dells he sought, 

Where wild flowers poured their rathe per 
fume. 
And with sincere devotion brought 

To thee the summer's earliest bloom. 

But ah ! no fond maternal smile 

His unprotected youth enjoyed — 
His limbs inured to early toil. 

His days with early hardships tried ! 
And more to mark the gloomy void, 

And bid him feel his misery. 
Before his infant eyes would glide 

Day-dreams of immortality. 

Yet, not by cold neglect depressed. 

With sinewy arm he turned the soil, 
Sunk with the evening sun to rest, 

And met at morn his earliest smile. 
Waked by his rustic pipe meanwhile, 

The powers of fancy came along, 
And soothed his lengthened hours of toil 

With native wit and sprightly song. 

Ah ! days of bliss too swiftly fled, 

When vigorous health from labor springe, 
And bland contentment soothes the bed. 

And sleep his ready opiate brings ; 
And hovering round on airy wings 

Float the light forms of young clesn'e, 
That of unutterable things 

The soft and shadowy hope inspire. 

ISTow spells of mightier power prepare — 

Bid brighter phantoms round him danoc : 
Let flattery spread her viewless snare, 

And fame attract his vagrant glance : 
Let sprightly pleasure too advance, 

Unveiled her eyes, unclasped her zone — 
TiU, lost in love's delirious trance, 

He scorn the joys his youth has knowii 



AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS. 



651 



Let friendship pour her brightest blaze, 

Expanding all the bloom of soul ; 
And mirth concentre all her rajs, 

And point them from the sparkling bowl ; 
And let the careless moments roll 

In social pleasures unconfined, 
And confidence that spurns control, 

Unlock the inmost springs of mind ! 

And lead his steps those bowers among, 

Where elegance with splendor vies, 
Or science bids her favored throng 

To more refined sensations rise ; 
Beyond the peasant's humbler joys. 

And freed from each laborious strife. 
There let him learn the bliss to prize 

That waits the sons of polished life. 

Then, whilst his throbbing veins beat high 

With every impulse of delight, 
Dash from his lips the cup of joy, 

And shroud the scene in shades of night ; 
And let despair with wizard light 

Disclose the yawning gulf below, 
A nd pour incessant on his sight 

Her spectred ills and shapes of woe ; 

And show beneath a cheerless shed. 

With sorrowing heart and streaming eyes, 
In silent grief where droops her head 

The partner of his early joys ; 
And let his infants' tender cries 

His fond parental succor claim, 
And bid him hear in agonies 

A husband's and a father's name. 

*T is done — the powerful charm succeeds ; 

His high reluctant spirit bends ; 
In bitterness of soul he bleeds, 

I^or longer with his fate contends. 
An idiot laugh the welkin rends 

As genius thus degraded lies ; 
Till pitying heaven the veil extends 

That shrouds the poet's ardent eyes. 

Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 
■ Thy sheltered valleys proudly spread. 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills. 
And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 



But never more shall poet tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reigu — 

Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead 
That ever breathed the soothing strain. 
William Eoscoii 



AT THE GKAYE OF BURNS. 

SEVEN TEARS AFTER HIS DEATH. 

I SHIVER, spirit fierce and bold. 

At thought of what I now behold : 

As vapors breathed from dungeons cold 

Strike pleasure dead, 
So sadness comes from out the mould 

Where Burns is laid. 

And have I then thy bones so near, 
And thou forbidden to appear ? 
As if it were thyself that 's here, 

I shrink with pain ; 
And both my wishes and my fear 

Alike are vain. 

Ofit* weight, — nor press on weight 1 — away 
Dark thoughts 1 — they came, but not to stay 
With chastened feelings would I pay 

The tribute due 
To him, and aught that hides his clay 

From mortal view. 

Fresh as the flower whose modest worth 
He sang, his genius "glinted" forth — 
Rose like a star that, touching eartli, 

(For so it seems) 
Doth glorify its humble birth 

With matchless beams. 

The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow, 
The struggling heart, where be tliey now ?-. 
Full soon the aspirant of the x)lough. 

The prompt, tlie brave. 
Slept, with tlie obscurest, in the low 

And silent grave. 

I mourned Avith thousands — but as one 
More deeply grieved ; for he was gone 
Whose light I hailed when first it shone, 

And showed my youth 
How verse may build a princely thror.e 

On humble truth. 



662 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Alas ! where'er the current tends 
Regret pursues and with it blends ! 
Huge Criffel's hoary top ascends 

By Skiddaw seen ; 
Neighbors we were, and loving friends 

We might liave been — 

True friends, though diversely inclined ; 
But heart with heart and mind with mind, 
Where the main fibres are entwined 

Through nature's skill, 
May even by contraries be joined 

More closely stiU. 

The tear will start, and let it flow ; 
Thou "poor inhabitant below," 
At this dread moment — even so — 

Might we together 
Have sat and talked where gowans blow, 

Or on wild heather. 

What treasures would have then been placed 
Within my reach, of knowledge graced 
By fancy, what a rich repast ! 

But why go on ? — 
Oh I spare to sweep, thou mournful blast. 

His grave grass-grown. 
There, too, a son, his joy and pride, 
(N'ot three weeks past the stripling died), 
Lies gathered to his father's side — 

Soul-moving sight ! 
Yet one to which is not deniei 

Some sad delight. 

For he is safe, a quiet bed 

Hath early found among the dead — 

Harbored where none can be misled, 

Wronged, or distrest ; 
And surely here it may be said 

That such are blest. 

And oh ! for thee, by pitying grace 
Checked ofttimes in a devious race — 
May He who halloweth the place 

Where man is laid. 
Receive thy spirit in the embrace 

For which it prayed ! 

Sighing, I turned away ; but ere 
N'ight fell I heard, or seemed to hear, 
Music that sorrow comes not near — 

A ritual hymn. 
Chanted, in love that casts cut <car. 

By seraphim. 



THOUGHTS, 

SUGGESTED THE DAY FOLLOWING, ON THE BANKS 
OF NITH, NEAR THE POET's EESIDENOE. 

Too frail to keep the lofty vow 
That must have followed when his brow 
Was wreathed — "The Vision" tells us 
how — 

With hoUy spray. 
He faltered, drifted to and fro, 

And passed away. 

Well might such thoughts, dear sister, 

throng 
Our minds when, lingering all too long, 
Over the grave of Burns we hung 

In social grief, — 
Indulged as if it were a wrong 

To seek relief. 

But, leaving each unquiet theme 
Where gentlest judgments may misdeem, 
And prompt to welcome every gleam 

Of good and fair, 
Let us beside this limpid stream 

Breathe hopeful air. 

Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight I 
Think rather of those moments bright 
When to the consciousness of riglit 

His course was true— 
When wisdom prospered in his sight, 

And virtue grew. 

Yes, freely let our hearts expand, 
Freely as in youth's season bland, 
When, side by side, his book in hand, 

We wont to stray. 
Our pleasure varying at command 

Of each sweet lay. 

How oft, inspired, must he have trod 
These pathways, yon far-stretching road I 
There lurks his home ; in that abode, 

With mirth elate. 
Or in his nobly pensive mood, 

The rustic sate. 

Proud thoughts that image overawes; 
Before it humbly let us pause. 
And ask of nature from what cause. 

And by what rules. 
She trained her Burns to win applause 

That shames the schools. 



BURNS. 



653 



Through biidest street and loneliest glen 

Are felt the flashes of his pen ; 

Ho rules 'mid winter snows, and when 

Bees All their hives: 
Deep in the general heart of men 

His power survives. 

What need of fields in some far clime 
Where heroes, sages, bards sublime, 
And all that fetched the flowing rhyme 

From genuine springs. 
Shall dwell together tiU old time 

Folds up his wings ? 

Sweet mercy ! to the gates of heaven 
This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven — 
The rueful conflict, the heart riven 

With vain endeavor. 
And memory of earth's bitter leaven 

Efl'aced for ever. 

But why to him confine the prayer, 
When kindred thoughts and yearnings bear 
On the frail heart the purest share 

With all that live?— 
The best of what we do and are, 

Just God, forgive ! 

William Woedsworth. 



BURNS. 



No more these simple flowers belong 
To Scottish maid and lover— 

Sown in the common soil of song, 
They bloom the wide world over. 

In smiles and tears, in sun and showers. 
The minstrel and the heather — 

The deathless singer and the flowers 
He sang of — live together. 

Wild heather bells and Robert Burns! 

The moorland flower aud peasant! 
How, at their mention, memory turns 

Her pages old and pleasant ! 

TliG gray sky wears again its gold 

And purple of adorning. 
And manhood's noonday shadows hold 

The dews of boyhood's morning — 

The dews that washed the dust and soil 
From off the wings of pleasure — 



The sky that flecked the ground of toil 
With golden threads of leisure. 

I call to mind the summer day— 

The early harvest mowing. 
The sky with sun and cloud at play, 

And flowers with breezes blowing. 

I hear the blackbird in the corn, 

The locust in the haying ; 
And, like the fabled hunter's horn. 

Old tunes my heart is playing. 

How oft that day, with fond delay, 

I sought the maple's shadow. 
And sang with Burns the hours away, 

Forgetful of the meadow ! 

Bees hummed, birds twittered, overhead 
I heard the squirrels leaping — 

The good dog listened while I read. 
And wagged his tail in keeping. 

I watched him while in sportive mood 
I read '^ The Twa Dogs' " story. 

And half believed he understood 
The poet's allegory. 

Sweet day, sweet songs ! — The golden hov.r^ 
Grew brighter for that singing, 

From brook and bird and meadow flowei s 
A dearer welcome bringing. 

New light on home-seen nature beamed, 

New glory over woman ; 
And daily life and duty seemed 

No longer poor and common. 

I woke to find the simple truth 

Of fact and feeling better 
Than all the dreams that held my youtl) 

A still repining debtor — 

That nature gives her handm'aid, art, 
The themes of sweet discoursing. 

The tender idyls of the heart 
In every tongue rehearsing. 

Why dream of lands of gold and pearl, 

Of loving knight and lady, 
When farmer boy and barefoot girl 

Were wandermg there already? 

I saw through all familiar things 
The romance underlying — 



354 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND EEFLECTION. 



The joys and griefs tliat plume the wings 
Of fancy skyward flying. 

I saw the same blithe day return. 

The same sweet fall of even, 
That rose on wooded Oraigie-burn» 

And sank on crystal Devon. 

I matched with Scotland's heathery hills 
The sweet-brier and the clover — 

With Ayr and Doon my native rills, 
Their wood hymns chanting over. 

O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, 

I saw the man uprising — 
;No longer common or unclean, 

The child of God's baptizing. 

With clearer eyes I saw the worth 

Of life among the lowly ; 
The bible at his cotter's hearth 

Had made my own more holy. 

And if at times an evil strain, 

To lawless love appealing. 
Broke in upon the sweet refrain 

Of pure and healthful feeling. 

It died upon the eye and ear, 

'No inward answer gaining ; 
N'o heart had I to see or hear 

The discord and the staining. 

Let those who never erred forget 
Ills worth, in vain bewailings ; 

Sweet soul of song! — I own my debt 
Uncancelled by his failings! 

Lament who will the ribald line 
Which tells his lapse from duty — 

How kissed the maddening lips of wine. 
Or wanton ones of beauty — 

But think, while falls that shade between 

The erring one and heaven, 
That he who loved like Magdalen, 

Like her may be forgiven. 

Not his the song whose thunderous chime 

Eternal echoes render — 
The mournfal Tuscan's hauntec? rhyme, 

And Milton's starry splendor ; 

Rut who his human heart has laid 
To nature's bosora nearer ? 



Who sweetened toil like him, or paid 
To love a tribute dearer ? 

Through all his tuneful art how strong 

The human feeling gushes ! 
The very moonlight of his song 

Is warm with smiles and blushes. 

Give lettered pomp to teeth of time. 
So " Bonnie Doon " but tarry ; 

Blot out the epic's stately rhyme, 
But spare his Highland Mary ! 

John Geeenleaf Whittiek. 



I 



ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S 
HOMER. 

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold. 
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; 
Round many western islands have I been 
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his de-| 

mesne ; 
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud fti.d| 

bold: 
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
When a new planet swims into his ken ; 
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 
He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 
Looked at each other with a wild surmise — 
Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 

John Keats. 



UHLAND. 

It is the poet Uhland, from whose wreath 
ings 
Of rarest harmony I here have drawn, 
To lower tones and less melodious breathings, 
Some simple strains, of youth and passion 
born. 



His is the poetry of sweet expression — 
Of clear, unfaltering tune, serene and 
strong — 
Where gentlest thoughts and wordc, in sofl 
procession, 
Move to the even measures of his sone. 



UHLAND. 



656 



Delighting ever in his own calm fancies, 
He sees n^uch beauty where most men see 
naught — 
Looking at nature with familiar glances, 
And weaving garlands m the groves of 
thought. 

lie sings of youth, and hope, and high en- 
deavor ; 

He sings of love — oh crown of poesy ! — 
Of fate, and sorrow, and the grave — forever 

The end of strife, the goal of destiny. 

He sings of fatherland, the minstrel's glory — 
High theme of memory and hope divine — 

Twining its fame with gems of antique story, 
In Suabian songs and legends of the Rhine ; 

In ballads breathing many a dim tradition, 

Nourished in long behef or minstrel rhymes, 
Fruit of the old romance, whose gentle mis- 
sion 
Passed from the earth before our wiser 
times. 

Well do they know his name among the 
mountains. 
And plains and valleys, of his native land ; 
Part of their nature are the sparkling foun- 
tains 
Of his clear thought, with rainbow fancies 
spanned. 

His simple lays oft sings the mother, cheerful. 
Beside the cradle in the dim twilight; 

His plaintive notes low breathes the maiden, 
tearful, 
"With tender murmurs in the ear of night. 

Ihe hillside swain, the reaper in the mead- 
ows, 

Carol his ditties through the toilsome day ; 
And the lone hunter in the Alpine shadows 

Recalls his ballads by some ruin gray. 

Oh precious gift ! oh wondrous inspiration ! 

Of all high deeds, of all harmonious things, 
T'jhe the oracle, while a whole nation 

OziiA^hes the echo from the sounding strings I 

Out of the depths of feeling and emotion 
Ri?es the orb of song, serenely bright — 



As who beholds, across the tracts of ocean, 
The golden sunrise bursting into hght. 

Wide is its magic world — divided neither 

By continent, nor sea, nor narrow zone : 
Wlio would not wish sometimes to travel 
thither. 
In fancied fortunes to forget his own ? 

William Allen Butlbk. 



THE GRAVE OF A POETESS. 

Let her be laid within a silent dell, 

Where hanging trees throw round a twilight 

gleam — 
Just within hearing of some village-bell. 
And by the margin of a low- voiced stream ; 
For these were sights and sounds she once 

loved well. 

Then o^er her grave the star-paved sky will 
beam; 

While all around the fragrant wild-flowers 
blow. 

And sweet birds sing her requiem to the wa- 
ter's flow. 

Thomas Millhi^ 



SOKNET. 

The nightingale is mute — and so art thou, 
Whose voice is sweeter than tlie nightin- 
gale ; 

While every idle scholar makes a vow 
Above thy worth and glory to prevail. 

Yet shall not envy to that level bring 
The true precedence which is born in thee ; 

Thou art no less the prophet of the spring. 
Though in the woods thy voice now silenl 

be. 

For silence may impair but cannot kill 
The music that is native to thy soul; 

N'or thy sweet mind, in this thy froward will. 
Upon thy purest honor have control ; 

But, since thou wilt not to our wishes sing, 

This truth I speak — thou art of poets king. 

Lord Thurlow. 



656 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT ,AND REFLECTION. 



CHARADE. 

Come from my first, ay, come ! 

The battle dawn is nigh ; 
And the screaming trump and the thundering 
drum. 

Are caUing thee to die ! 

Fight as thy father fought ; 

Fall as thy father fell ; 
Thy task is taught ; thy shroud is wrought : 

So forward and farewell ! 

Toll ye my second ! toll ! 

Fling high the flambeau's light : 
And sing the hymn for a parted soul 

Beneath the silent night! 

The wreath upon his head. 

The cross upon his breast, 
Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed. 

So, — take him to his rest! 

Call ye my whole, ay, call 

The lord of lute and lay ; 
And let him greet the sable paU 

TTith a noble song to-day ; 

Go, call him by his name ! 

N'o fitter hand may crave 
To light the flame of a soldier's fame 

On the turf of a soldier's grave. 

TViNTHEOP Mackworth Peaed. 



And show^s the British youth, who ne'er 
Will lag behind, what Eomans were, 
"When all the Tuscans and their Lars 
Shouted, and shook the towers of Mars. 

"Walter Sayage Landob. 



TO MACAULAY. 

Tjte dreamy rhymer's measured snore 
Falls heavy on our ears no more; 
And by long strides are left behmd 
The dear delights of w^omankind, 
Who wage their battles like their loves, 
In satin waistcoats and kid gloves. 
And have achieved the crowning work 
When they have trussed and skewered a Tm'k. 
Another comes with stouter tread. 
And stalks among the statelier dead : 
He rushes on, and hails by turns 
High-crested Scott, broad-breasted Burns ; 



ODE. 



Bards of passion and of mirth, 
Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
Have ye souls in heaven too. 
Double-lived in regions new ? 
Yes, and those of heaven commune 
With the spheres of sun and moon ; 
With the noise of fountains w^ondrous. 
And the parle of voices thund'rous ; 
With the whisper of heaven's trees 
And one another, in soft ease 
Seated on Elysian lawns 
Browsed by none but Dian's fawns ; 
Underneath large blue-bells tented, 
Where the daisies are rose-scented, 
And the rose herself has got 
Perfume which on earth is not ; 
Where the nightingale doth sing 
Not a senseless, tranced thing, 
But divine, melodious truth — 
Philosophic numbers smooth — 
Tales and golden histories 
Of heaven and its mysteries. 

Thus ye live on high, and then 
On the earth ye live again ; 
And the souls ye left behind you 
Teach us here the way to find you, 
Where your other souls are joying, 
Kever slumbered, never cloying. 
Here your earth-born souls stiU speali 
To mortals, of their little week ; 
Of their sorrows and delights ; 
Of their passions and their spites ; 
Of their glory and their shame ; 
What doth strengthen and what main. 
Thus ye teach us, every day. 
Wisdom, though fled fai* aw^ay. 

Bards of passion and of mirth. 
Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
Ye have souls in heaven too, 
Double-lived in regions new ! 

John Keat^ 



A POET'S THOUGHT, 



G57 



THE MmSTREL. 

' What voice, what harp, are those we hear 

Beyond the gate in chorus ? 
Go, page ! — the lay delights our ear ; 

We '11 have it sung before us ! " 
So speaks the king : the stripling flies — 
He soon returns ; his master cries — 

" Bring in the hoary minstrel ! " 

" Hail, princes mine ! Hail, noble knights ! 

All hail, enchanting dames! 
What starry heaven ! What blinding lights ! 

Whose tongue may tell their names? 
In this bright hall, amid this blaze. 
Close, close, mine eyes ! Ye may not gaze 

On such stupendous glories ! " 

The minnesinger closed his eyes ; 

He struck his mighty lyre : 
Then beauteous bosoms heaved with sighs. 

And warriors felt on fire ; 
The king, enraptured by the strain. 
Commanded that a golden chain 

Be given the bard in guerdon. 

" Not so ! Reserve thy chain, thy gold. 
For those brave knights whose glances. 

Fierce flashing through the battle bold, 
Might shiver sharpest lances ! 

Bestow it on thy treasurer there — 

The golden burden let him bear 
With other glittering burdens. 

** I sing as in the greenwood bush 

The cageless wild-bird carols — 
The tones that from the full heart gush 

Themselves are gold and laurels ! 
Yet might I ask, then thus I ask — 
Let one bright cup of wine, in flask 

Of glowing gold, be brought me ! " 

They set it down ; he quaflfs it all — 

" Oh ! draught of richest flavor I 
')h\ thrice divinely happy hall 

Where that is scarce a favor! 
If heaven shall bless ye, think on me ; 
A.nd thank your God as I thank ye 

For this delicious wine-cup I " 

JoHANN Wolfgang von Goethe (German). 

Vranslation of Jamks Clarence Mangan. 

87 



SOl!^NET. 

Who best can paint th' enamelled robe of 

spring, 

With flow'rets and fair blossoms weU be- 

dight ; 

Who best can her melodious accents sing, 

With which she greets the soft return of 

light; 

Who best can bid the quaking tempest rage, 

And make th' imperial arch of heav'n to 

groan — 

Breed warfare with the winds, and finely 

wage 

Great strife with N'eptune on his rocky 

throne — 

Or lose us in those sad and mournful days 

With which pale autumn crowns the misty 

year, 

Shall bear the prize, and in his true essays 

A poet in our awful eyes appear ; 

For whom let wine his mortal woes beguile, 

Gold, praise, and woman's thrice-endearing' 

smile. 

Lord Thublcw. 



A POET'S THOUGHT. 

Tell me, what is a poet's thought? 

Is it on the sudden born ? 
Is it from the starlight caught ? 
Is it by the tempest taught ? 

Or by whispering morn ? 

Was it cradled in the bi-ain i 

Chained awhile, or nursed in night 3 
Was it wrought with toil and pain ? 
Did it bloom and fiide again, 

Ere it burst to light? 

No more question of its birth : 
Rather love its better part I 
'T is a thing of sky and earth, 
Gathering all its golden worth 
From the poet's heart. 

Barry Corn mail 



iU)8 



POEMS OF SENTIMEXT AND REFLECTION. 



RESOLUTION" AND INDEPEN^DENCE. 



Theee was a roaring in the wind all night — 

The rain came heavily and fell in floods ; 

But now the sun is rising calm and bright — 

The birds are singing in the distant woods ; 

Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove 
broods ; 

The jay makes answer as the magpie chat- 
ters ; 

And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of 
waters. 

IL 

All things that love the sim are out of doors ; 
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth ; 
The grass is bright with rain-drops ; on the 

moors 
The hare is running races in her mirth -; 
And with her feet she from the plashy earth 
Raises a mist that, glittering in the sun, 
Runs with her all the way, wherever she 

doth run. 



I was a traveller then upon the moor ; 
I saw the hare that raced about with joy ; 
I heard the woods and distant waters roar — 
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy. 
The pleasant season did my heart employ ; 
My old remembrances went from me wholly — 
And all the ways of men, so vain and melan- 
choly. 

IV. 

but, as it sometimes chanceth, from the 

might 
Of joy in minds that can no further go, 
As high as we have mounted in delight 
[n our dejection do we sink as low — 
To me that morning did it happen so ; 
And fears and fancies thick upon me came — 
Dim sadness, and blind thoughts, I knew not, 
nor could name. 

T. 

I lieard the skylark warbling in the sky ; 
And I bethought me of the playful hare : 



Even such a happy child of earth am I ; 
Even as these blissful creatures do I fare ; 
Far from the world I walk, and from all caro. 
But there may come another day to me — 
Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. 



My whole life I have lived in pleasant 

thought. 
As if life's business were a summer mood — 
As if all needful things would come unsought 
To genial faith, still rich in genial good ; 
But how can he expect that others should 
Build for him, sow for him, and at his caU 
Love him, who for himself will take no heed | 
at all? 



I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, 
The sleepless soul that perished in his pride ; 
Of him who walked in glory and in joy, 
Following his plough, along the monntaiD 

side. 
By our own spirits we are deified ; 
We poets in our youth begin in gladness, 
But thereof come in the end despondency 

and madness. 



i 



N'ow, whether it were by peculiar grace, 
A leading from above, a something given, 
Yet it befell that, in this lonely place. 
When I with these untoward thoughts had 

striven. 
Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven 
I saw a man before me unawares — 
The oldest man he seemed that ever wore 

gray hairs. 



As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie 
Couched on the bald top of an eminence, 
Wonder to all who do the same espy 
By what means it could hither come, aii^ 

whence ; 
So that it seems a thing endued with sense — 
Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that; on a shell 
Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun it- 
self— 



r{ESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE. 



65ft 



Such seemed this man, not all alive nor dead, 
N'or all asleep, in his extreme old age. 
His body was bent double, feet and head 
Coming together in life's pilgrimage, 
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage 
Of sickness, felt by him in times long past, 
A more than human weight upon his frame 
had cast. 

XI. 

Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face. 
Upon a long gray staff of shaven wood ; 
And stil], as I drew near with gentle pace, 
Upon the margin of that moorish flood 
Motionless as a cloud the old man stood, 
That heareth not the loud winds when they 

call, 
And moveth all together, if it move at all. 



At length, himself unsettling, he the pond 
Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look 
Upon that muddy water, which he conned 
As if he had been reading in a book. 
And now a stranger's privilege I took ; 
And, drawing to his side, to him did say 
" This morning gives us promise of a glorious 
day." 



A gentle answer did the old man make, 

In courteous speech which forth he slowly 

drew ; 
And him with further words I thus bespake : 
"What occupation do you there pursue ? 
This is a lonesome place for one like you." 
Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise 
Broke from the sable orbs of liis yet vivid 

eyes. 

XIV. 

His words came feebly, from a feeble chest ; 
But each in solemn order followed each, 
With something of a lofty utterance drest, — 
Choice word and measured phrase, above the 

reach 
Of ordinary men, a stately speech. 
Such as grave livers do in Scotland use — 
Religious men, who give to God and man 

their dues. 



XV. 

He told that to these waters he had come 

To gather leeches, being old and poor — 

En^ployment hazardous and wearisome ! 

And he had many hardships to endure ; 

From pond to pond he roamed, from moor 
to moor — 

Housing, with God's good help, by choice or 
chance ; 

And in this way he gained an honest mainte- 
nance. 

XVI. 

The old man still stood talking by my side ; 
But now his voice to me was like a stream 
Scarce heard, nor word from word could I 

divide ; 
And the whole body of the man did seem 
Like one whom T had met with in a dream — 
Or like a man from some far region sent 
To give me human strength by apt admonisli- 

ment. 



My former thoughts returned : the fear that 

kills. 
And hope that is unwilling to be fed ; 
Cold, pain, and labor, and all fleshly ills ; 
And mighty poets in their misery dead. 
— Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, 
My question eagerly did I renew — 
"How is it that you live, and what is it you 

do?" 

XVIII. 

He with a smile did then his words repeat ; 
And said that, gathering leeches, far and 

wide 
Tie travelled, stirring thus about his feet 
The waters of the pools where they abide. 
" Once I could meet with them on every side: 
But they have dwindled long by sIoav decay ; 
Yet still I persevere, and find them where 1 

may." 



While he was talking thus, the lonely place, 
The old man's shape and speech — all troublecl 

me; 
In my mind's eye I seemed to see hira pace 



360 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



About the weary moors continually, 
Wandering about *alone and silently. 
While I these thoughts within myself pursued, 
He, having made a pause, the same disccnrse 
renewed. 



And soon with this he other matter blend- 
ed— 
Cheerfully uttered, with demeanor kind. 
But stately in the main; and when he ended 
I could have laughed myself to scorn, to find 
hi that decrepit man so firm a mind. 
' God," said I, " be my help and stay secure ; 
I '11 think of the leech-gatherer on the lonely 

moor! ""^ 

William Wokdswoeth. 



AIS" EXHOETATIOX. 

Chameleoxs feed on light and air — 

Poets' food is love and fame ; 
If in this wide world of care 

Poets could but find the same 
With as little toil as they. 

Would they ever change their hue 

As the light chameleons do. 
Suiting it to every ray 
Twenty times a-day ? 

Poets are on ""yhis cold earth 

As chameleons might be. 
Hidden from their early birth 

In a cave beneath the sea : 
Where light is, chameleons change — 

Where love is not, poets do. 

Fame is love disguised ; if few 
Find either, never think it strange 
That poets range. 

Yet dare not stain with wealth or power 

A poet's free and heavenly mind ; 
If bright chameleons should devour 

Any food but beams and wind. 
They would grow as earthly soon 

As their brother lizards are": 

Children of a sunnier star, 
Spirits from beyond the moon. 
Oh, refuse the boon ! 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



ODE ON" A GEECIAN URIS^ 

Thou still unravished bride of quietness! 

Thou foster-child of silence and slow tinio 
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express 
A flowery tale more sweetly than oar 
rhyme ! 
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy 
shape 
Of deities or mortals, or of both. 

In Tempe or the dales of Arcady ? 
What men or gods are these ? what maid- 
ens loath ? 
What mad pursuit ? What struggle to escape 1 
What pipes and timbrels? What wild 
ecstasy ? 

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
Are sweeter ; therefore, ye soft pipes, play 
on — 
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, 

Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone ! 

Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not 

leave 

Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; 

Bold lover, never, never, canst thou kiss, 

Though winning near the goal ; yet do not 

grieve — 

She cannot fade, though thou hast not 
thy bliss ; 
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair ! 

Ah, happy, happy boughs ! that cannot shed 
Your leaves nor ever bid the spring adieu : 
And happy melodist, unwearied, 

For ever piping songs for ever new ; 
More happy love ! more happy, happy love ' 
For ever warm and stiU to be enjoyed, 
For ever panting and for ever young ; 
All breathing human j)assion far above, 
That leaves a heart high sorrowful and 
cloyed, 
A burning forehead and a parching 
tongue. 

Who are these coming to the sacrifice ? 

To what green altar, mysterious priest 
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, 

And all her silken flanks with carlandf 
drest? 



L'ALLEGRO. 



661 



What little town by river or sea shore, 
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, 
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn ? 
Aiid, little town, thy streets for evermore 
Will silent be ; and not a soul, to tell 
"W hy thou art desolate, can e'er return. 

Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede 

Of marble men and maidens overwrought. 

With forest branches and the trodden weed ! 

Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of 

thought, 

As doth eternity. Cold pastoral ! 

When old age shall this generation waste, 

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou 

say'st 

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,'' — that is all 

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to 

know. 

John Keats. 



THE MEA:N'S TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE. 

Maetial, the things that do attain 
The happy life be these, I find — 

The riches left, not got with pain ; 
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind, 

The equal friend ; no grudge, no strife ; 

No charge of rule, nor governance ; 
Without disease, the healthful life ; 

The household of continuance ; 

The mean diet, no delicate fare ; 

True wisdom joined with simpleness ; 
The night discharged of all care. 

Where wine the wit may not oppress; 

The faithful wife, without debate ; 

Such sleeps as may beguile the night ; 
Contented with thine own estate, 

Ne wish for death, ne fear his might. 
Lord Suebet. 



L'ALLEGPvO. 

Hence, loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest midnigh! 
born! 
In Stygian cave forlorn, 

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and 
sights unholy. 
Find out some uncouth cell. 

Where brooding darkness spreads hit 
jealous wings. 
And the night-raven sings ; 

There, under ebon shades, and low* 
browed rocks, 
As ragged as thy locks. 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
But come, thou goddess fair and free. 
In heav'n y-cleped Euphrosyne, 
And, by men, heart-easing Mirth ! 
Whom lovely Yenus, at a birth 
With two sister graces more. 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore ; 
Or whether (as some sages sing) 
The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 
Zephyr, with Aurora playing — 
As he met her once a-Maying — 
There, on beds of violets blue 
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, 
Filled her with thee, a daughter fair. 
So buxom, bhthe, and debonair. 

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee 
Jest, and youthful jollity — 
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, 
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles. 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, 
And love to live in dimple sleek — 
Sport, that wrinkled care derides, 
And laughter holding both his sides. 
Come ! and trip it, as you go. 
On the light fantastic toe ; 
And in thy right hand lead with thee 
The mountain nymph, sweet liberty ; 
And if I give thee honor due. 
Mirth, admit me of tliy crew. 
To live with her, and live with thee. 
In unreproved pleasures free — 
To hear the lark begin his flight, 
And singing startle the dull night 



362 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



From his watch-tow'r in the skies, 
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 
Then to come, in spite of sorrow, 
And at my window bid good morrow, 
Through the sweet-brier, or the vine. 
Or the twisted eglantine ; 
While the cock with lively din 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin. 
And to the stack, or the barn door. 
Stoutly struts his dames before ; 
Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn. 
From the side of some hoar hill 
Through the high wood echoing shrill ; 
Sometime walking, not unseen. 
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, 
Right against the eastern gate. 
Where the great sun begins his state, 
Robed in flames, and amber light, 
The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 
While the ploughman near at hand 
Whistles o'er the furrowed land, 
And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 
And the mower whets his scythe, 
And every shepherd tells his tale 
Under the hawthorn in the dale. 



Straight mine eye hath caught new pleas- 
ures, 
Whilst the landscape round it measures 
Russet lawns, and fallows gray. 
Where the nibbling flocks do stray — 
Mountains, on whose barren breast 
The laboring clouds do often rest — 
Meadows trim with daisies pied. 
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide. 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosomed high in tufted trees. 
Where perhaps some beauty lies, 
The cynosure of neigboring eyes. 
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 
From betwixt two aged oaks, 
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met. 
Are at their savory dinner set 
Of herbs, and other country messes, 
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; 
And then in haste her bower she leaves, 
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 
Or, if the earlier season lead, 
To the tanned haycock in the mead. 



Sometimes with secure delight 

The upland hamlets will invite, 

When the merry bells ring round, 

And the jocund rebecks sound 

To many a youth, and many a maid, 

Dancing in the chequered shade ; 

And young and old come forth to play 

On a sunshine holiday, 

Till the live-long daylight fail , 

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale 

With stories told of many a feat : 

How fairy Mab the junkets eat — 

She was pinched and pulled, she said, 

And he by friar's lantern led ; 

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 

To earn his cream-bowl duly set. 

When in one night, ere glimpse of mom, 

His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn 

That ten day-laborers could not end ; 

Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 

And stretched out all the chimney's lengthy 

Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 

And, crop-full, out of doors he flings 

Ere the first cock his matin rings. 

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 

Towered cities please us then. 
And the busy ham of men. 
Where throngs of knights and barons bold 
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold — 
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, Vv^hile both contend 
To win her grace whom all commend. 
There let Hymen oft appear 
In saflron robe, with taper clear, 
And pomp and feast and revelry. 
With mask, and antique pageantry — 
Such sights as youthful poets dream 
On summer eves by haunted stream ; 
Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
If Jonson's learned sock be on, 
Or sweetest Shakspeare, fancy's child, 
Warble his native wood-notes wild 

And ever, against eating cares, 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs. 
Married to immortal verse, 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce, 



IL PENSEROSO. 



f;0£ 



Tu notes with many a winding bout 

Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 

With wanton heed and giddy cunning 

The melting voice through mazes running, 

Untwisting all the chains that tie 

The hidden soul of harmony — 

Tliat Orpheus' self may heave his head 

"From golden slumber on a bed 

Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear 

Such strains as would have won the ear 

Of Pluto, to have quite set free 

His half regained Eurydice. 

These delights if thou canst give. 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 



IL PENSEROSO. 

Hence, vain deluding joys, 

The brood of folly without father bred ! 
How little you bestead. 

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ! 
Dwell in some idle brain. 

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes pos- 
sess. 
As thick and numberless 

As the gay motes that people the sun- 
beams — 
Or likest hovering dreams. 

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus^ train. 
But hail, thou goddess, sage and holy ! 
Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight, 
And therefore to our weaker view 
O'erlaid with black, staid wisdom's hue — 
Black, but such as in esteem 
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove 
To set her beauty's praise above 
The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended. 
Yet thou art higher far descended ; 
Thee bright-haired Yesta, long of yore. 
To solitary Saturn bore — 
His daughter she (in Saturn's reign 
Such mixture was not held a stain). 
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove, 
While yet there was no fear of Jove. 



Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
All in a robe of darkest grain 
Flowing with majestic train, 
And sable stole of cypress lawn 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn ! 
Come ! but keep thy wonted state, 
With even step and musing gait. 
And looks commercing v/ith the skies, 
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine -eyes; 
There, held in holy passion still. 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad, leaden, downward cast 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast ; 
And join with thee calm peace, and quiet- 
Spare fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 
And hears the muses in a ring 
Aye round about Jove's altar sing ; 
And add to these retired leisure, 
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ; 
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring 
Him that yon soars on golden wing. 
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne — 
The cherub contemplation ; 
And the mute silence hist along, 
'Less Philomel will deign a song 
In her sweetest, saddest plight, 
Smoothing the rugged brow of night, 
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 
Gently o'er the accustomed oak. 
Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of f( '1- 

ly- 

Most musical, most melancholy ! 
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among 
I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 
And, missing thee, I walk unseen 
On the dry, smooth-shaven green. 
To behold the wandering moon 
Riding near her highest noon, 
Like one that had been led astray 
Through the heav'n's wide pathless way ; 
And oft, as if her head she bowed, 
Stoopnig through a fleecy cloud. 
Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 
I hear the fiir-off curfew sound 
Over some wide- watered shore, 
Swinging slow with sullen roAr , 
Or if the air will not permit, 
Some still removed place will fit, 
Where glowing embers througli the room 
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom — 



664 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Far from all resort of mirth, 
Save the cricket on the hearth, 
Or the hellmaa's drowsy charm. 
To bless the doors from nightly harm ; 
Or let my lamp at midnight hour 
' Be seen in some high lonely tower, 
Where I may oft out-watch the bear 
With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere 
The spirit of Plato, to unfold 
What worlds or what vast regions hold 
The immortal mind that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook ; 
And of those demons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or under ground. 
Whose power hath a true consent 
With planet or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous tragedy 
In sceptred pall come sweeping by. 
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, 
Or the tale of Troy divine. 
Or what (though rare) of later age 
Ennobled hath the buskined stage. 

But, oh, sad vii-gin, that thy power 
Might raise Mus^us from his bower ! 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
Such notes as, warbled to the string. 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, 
And made hell grant what love did seek ! 
Or call up him that left half- told 
The story of Cambuscan bold— 
Of Camball, and of Algarsife — 
And who had Canace to wife. 
That owned the virtuous ring and glass— 
And of the wondrous horse of brass. 
On which the Tartar king did ride ! 
And, if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung — 
Of tourneys and of trophies hung. 
Of forests, and enchantments drear. 
Where more is meant than meets the ear. 

Thus, night, oft see me in thy pale 
career. 
Till civil-suited. morn appear — 
Not tricked and flounced, as she was wont 
With the Attic boy to hunt. 
But kerchiefed in a comely cloud 
While rocking winds are piping loud, 
Or ushered with a shower still 
When the gust hath blown his fill, 



Ending on the rustling leaves, 

With minute drops from oflp the eavee. 

And when the sun begins to fling 

His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring 

To arched walks of twilight groves. 

And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves. 

Of pine or monumental oak. 

Where the rude axe with heaved stroke 

Was never heard the nymphs to daunt. 

Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. 

there in close covert by some brook. 

Where no profaner eye may look. 

Hide me from day's garish eye, 

While the bee with honied thigh. 

That at her flowery work doth sing. 

And the waters murmuring 

With such consort as they keep, 

Entice the dewy-feathered sleep; 

And let some strange mysterious dreairi 

Wave at his wings, in airy stream 

Of lively portraiture displayed, 

Softly on my eyelids laid ; 

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 

Above, about, or underneath, 

Sent by some spirit to mortals good, 

Or th' unseen genius of the wood. 

But let my due feet never fail 
To walk the studious cloisters pale, 
And love the high embowed roof, 
With antic pillars massy proof. 
And storied windows, richly dight. 
Casting a dim religious light. 
There let the pealing organ blow 
To the full-voiced quire below. 
In service high, and anthems clear, 
As may with sweetness, through mine car 
Dissolve me into ecstasies, 
And bring aU heaven before mine eyes. 

And may at last my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage. 
The hairy gown and mossy cell, 
Where I may sit and rightly spell 
Of every star that heav'n doth show. 
And every herb that sips the dow, 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 

These pleasures, Melancholy, give. 
And I with thee will choose to live. 

John Mil-toh. 



A CONTENTED MIND. 



66« 



SONG. 

8wEET are the thoughts that savor of eon- 
tent — 
The quiet mind is richer than a crown ; 

Sweet are the nights in careless sUimher 
spent — 
The poor estate scorns fortune's angry 
frown : 

Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, 
such bliss, 

Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss. 

The homely house that harbors quiet rest, 
The cottage that affords no pride or care, 

The mean that 'grees with country music best. 
The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare, 

Obscured life sets down a type of bliss : 

A mind content both crown and kingdom is. 

RoBEKT Greene. 



THE EEPLY. 



Since you desire of me to know 
Who's the wise man, I' 11 tell you who : 
Not he whose rich and fertile mind 
Is by the culture of the arts refined ; 
Who lias the chaos of disordered thought 
By reason's light to form and method 

brought ; 
Who with a clear and piercing sight 
Can see through niceties as dark as night — 
You err if you think this is he, 
Though seated on the top of the Porphyrian 

tree. 



Nor is it he to whom kind heaven 

A secret cabala has given 

T^ unriddle the mysterious text 

Of nature, with dark comments more per- 

plext — 
Or to decipher her clean- writ and fair, 
But most confounding, puzzling character — 
That can through all her windings trace 
This slippery wanderer, and unveil her face, 



Her inmost mechanism view. 
Anatomize each part, and see her through 
and through. 

III. 
Nor he that does the science know 
Our only certainty below — 
That can from problems dark and nice 
Deduce truths worthy of a sacrifice. 
Nor he that can confess the stars, and see 
What 's writ in the black leaves of destiny — 
That knows their laws, and how the sun 
His daily and his annual stage does run, 
As if he did to them dispense 
Their motions and their fate — supreme intoi- 
li2:ence ! 



Nor is it he (although he boast 
Of wisdom, and seem wise to most,) 
Yet 't is not he whose busy pate 
Can dive into the deep intrigues of state- 
That can the great leviathan control, 
Manage and rule it, as if he were its soul ; 
The wisest king thus gifted was, 
And yet did not in these true wisdom place. 
Who then is by the wise man meant ? 
He that can want all this, and yet can be 
content. 

John Noebis. 



A CONTENTED MIND. 

I WEIGH not fortune's frown or smile ; 

I joy not much in earthly joys ; 
I seek not state, I reck not style ; 

I am not fond of fancy's toys : 
I rest so pleased witli what I have 
I wish no more, no more I crave. 

I quake not at the thunder's crack ; 

I tremble not at noise of war ; 
I swound not at the news of wrack ; 

I shrink not at a blazing star ; 
I fear not loss, I hope not gain , 
I envy none, I none disdain. 

I see ambition never pleased ; 

I see some Tantals starved in store 
I see gold's dropsy seldom eased; 

I see even Midas gape for more : 



566 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



I neither want, nor yet abound — 
Enough 's a feast, content is crowned. 

I feign not friendship where I hate ; 

I fawn not on the great (in show) ; 
I prize, I praise a mean estate — 

IReither too lofty nor too low : 
This, this is all my choice, my cheer — 
A mind content, a conscience clear. 

JosnuA Sylvester. 



SONG. 

What pleasure have great princes, 
More dainty to their choice 

Than herdsmen wild, who, careless, 
In quiet life rejoice. 

And fortune's fate not fearing. 

Sing sweet in summer morning. 

Their dealings, plain and rightful. 

Are void of all deceit ; 
They never know how spiteful 

It is to feel and wait 
On favorite presumptuous. 
Whose pride is vain and sumptuous. 

All day their flocks each tendeth ; 

All night they take their rest — 
More quiet than who sendeth 

His ship into the east, 
Where gold and pearls are plenty. 
But getting very dainty. 

For lawyers and their pleading, 
They esteem it not a straw ; 

They think that honest meaning 
Is of itself a law ; 

Where conscience judge th plainly, 

They spend no money vainly. 

Oh happy who thus liveth, 

ISTot caring much for gold. 
With clothing which suflSceth 

To keep him from the cold ; 
Though poor and plain his diet, 
Yet merry it is and quiet. 

TVlLLIAM BtED. 



THE LYE. 

GoE, soule, the bodie's guest. 
Upon a thanklesse arrant ; 
Feare not to touche the best — 
The truth shall be thy warrant . 
Goe, since I needs must dye. 
And gire the world the lye. 

Goe tell the court it glowes 

And shines like rotten wood ; 
Goe tell the church it showes 
What 's good, and doth no good 
If church and court reply. 
Then give them both the lye. 

Tell potentates they live 

Acting by others actions — 
Not loved unlesse they give, 

ISTot strong but by their factions ; 
If potentates reply. 
Give potentates the lye. 

Tell men of high condition, 
That rule affairs of state, 
Their purpose is ambition, 
Their practice only hate ; 
And if they once reply. 
Then give them all the lye. 

Tell them that brave it most 

They beg for more by spending, 
Who in their greatest cost 

Seek nothing but commending ; 
And if they make reply. 
Spare not to give the lye. 

Tell zeale it lacks devotion ; 

Tell love it is but lust ; 
Tell time it is but motion ; 
Tell flesh it is but dust ; 
And wish them not reply, 
For thou must give the lyo. 

Tell age it daily wasteth ; 

TeU honour how it alters ; 
Tell beauty how she blast eth ; 

Tell favour how she falters ; 



TO THE LADY MARGARET. 



661 



And as they then reply, 
Give each of them the lye. 

Tell wit how much it wrangles 
In tickle points of nicenesse ; 
Tell wisedome she entangles 
Herselfe in over wisenesse ; 
And if they do reply, 
Straight give them both the. lye. 

Tell physicke of her boldnesse ; 

Tell skill it is pretension ; 
Tell charity of coldnesse ; 
Tell law it is contention ; 
And as they yield reply. 
So give them still the lye. 

Tell fortune of her blindnesse ; 

Tell nature of decay ; 
Tell friendship of unkindnesse ^ 
Tell justice of delay ; 
And if they dare reply, 
Then give them all the ]ye. 

Tell arts they have no soundnesse, 

But vary by esteeming ; 
Tell schooles they want profoundnesse, 
And stand too much on seeming ; 
If arts and schooles reply, 
Give arts and schooles the lye. 

Tell faith it 's fled the citie ; 

Tell how the country erreth ; 
Tell, manhood shakes off pitie ; 
Tell, vertue least preferreth ; 
And if they doe reply, 
Spare not to give the lye. 

So, when thou hast, as I 

Commanded thee, done blabbing — 
Although to give the lye 

Deserves no less than stabbing — 
Yet stab at thee who will. 
No stab the soule can kill. 

Anonymous. 



TO THE LADY MARGARET, COUNTESS 
OF CUMBERLAND. 

He that of such a height hath built his mind, 
And reared the dwelling of his thoughts so 

strong. 
As neither fear nor hope can shake the 

frame 
Of his resolved powers ; nor all the wind 
Of vanity or mahce pierce to wrong 
His settled peace, or to disturb the same ; 
What a fair seat hath he, from whence lie 

may 
The boundless wastes and weilds of man 

survey? 

And with how free an eye doth he look down 
Upon these lower regions of turmoil? 
Where all the storms of passions mainly beat 
On flesh and blood, where honor, power, 

renown, 
Are only gay afflictions, golden toil ; 
Where greatness stands upon as feeble feet 
As frailty doth ; and only great doth seem 
To little minds, who do it so esteem. 

He looks upon the mightiest monarch's ward 
But only as on stately robberies ; 
Where evermore the fortune that prevails 
Must be the right ; the ill-succeeding Mars 
The fairest and the best faced enterprise. 
Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails ; 
Justice, he sees (as if seduced), still 
Conspires with power, whose cause must not 
be ill. 

He sees the fice of right to appear as mani 

fold 
As are the passions of uncertain man ; 
Who puts it in all colors, all attires, 
To serve his ends, and make his courses hold. 
He sees, that let deceit work what it can, 
Plot and contrive base ways to high desires ; 
That the all-guiding providence doth yet 
All disappoint, and mocks the smoke of wit. 

Nor is he moved with all the tlmuder-crackg 
Of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow 
Of power, that proudly sits on others' crimes ; 
Charged with more crying sins than those he 
checks. 



608 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



The storn.s of sad confusion, that m,9y grow 
Up in the present for the coming times, 
Appall not him, that hath no side at all, 
But of himself, and knows the worst can fall. 

Although his heart (so near alhed to earth) 
Cannot hut pitj the perplexed state 
Of troublous and distressed mortality, 
That thus make way unto the ugly birth 
Of their own sorrows, and do still beget 
iVffilction upon imbecility ; 
Yet seeing thus the course of things must run, 
He looks thereon not strange, but as fore- 
done. 

And whilst distraught ambition compasses 
And is encompassed ; whilst as craft deceives. 
And is deceived; whilst man doth ransack 

man. 
And builds on blood, and rises by distress. 
And the inheritance of desolation leaves 
To great-expecting hopes ; he looks thereon. 
As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye, 
And bears no venture in impiety. 

Thus, madam, fares that man, that hath pre- 
pared 
A rest for his desires, and sees all things 
Beneath him ; and hath learned this book of 

man. 
Full of the notes of frailty ; and compared 
The best of glory with her sufferings ; 
By whom, I see, you labor all you can 
To plant your heart ; and set your thoughts as 

near 
His glorious mansion as your powers can 
bear. 

Which, madam, are so soundly fashioned 

By that clear judgment that hath carried you 

Beyond the feebler limits of your kind, 

As they can stand against the strongest head 

Passion can make ; inured to any hue 

The world can cast; that cannot cast that 

mind 
Out of her form of goodness, that doth see 
Both what the best and worst of earth can be. 

Which makes that whatsoever here befalls, 
You in the region of yourself remain, 
Where no vain breath of th' impudent molests, 
That hath secured within the brazen walls 



Cf a clear conscience, that (without all stain) 

Rises in peace, in innocency rests ; 

Whilst all what malice from without pro- 
cures, 

Shows her own ugly heart, but hurts not 
yours. 

And whereas none rejoice more in revenge, 
Than women used to do ; yet you well know, 
That wrong is better checked by being con- 
temned. 
Than bemg pursued ; leaving to him to avenge 
To whom it appertains. Wherein yon show 
How worthily your clearness hath condemned 
Base malediction, living in the dark. 
That at the rays of goodness still doth bark. 

Knowing the heart of man is set to bo 
The centre of this world, about the which 
These revolutions of disturbances 
Still roll ; where aU the aspects of misery 
Predominate ; whose strong effects are such 
As he must bear, being powerless to redress ; 
And that unless above himself he c^m 
Erect himself, how poor a thing is man l 

And how turmoiled they are that level lie 
With earth, and cannot lift themselves from 

thence ; 
That never are at peace with their desires, 
But work beyond their years ; and even deny 
Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispense 
With death : that when abihty expires. 
Desire lives still — so much delight they have 
To carry toil and travel to the grave. 

Whose ends you see; and what can be the 

best 
They reach unto, when they have cast the 

sum 
And reckonings of their glory ? And you know, 
This floatmg life hath but this port of rest, 
A heart prepared, that fears no ill to come; 
And that man's greatness rests but in his 

show. 
The best of all whose days consumed are, 
Either in war, or peace conceiving war. 

This concord, madam, of a well-tuned mind, 
Hath been so set by that all-working hand 



MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 



669 



Of lieaven, that though the world hath done 

his worst 
To put it out hy discords most unkind, 
Yet doth it still in perfect union stand 
With God and man ; nor ever will be forced 
From that most sweet accord, but still agree, 
Equal in fortunes in equality. 

And this note, madam, of your worthiness 
Remains recorded in so many hearts, 
As time nor malice cannot wrong your right. 
In th' inheritance of fame you must possess : 
You that have built you by your great deserts 
(Out of small means) a far more exquisite 
And glorious dwelling for your honored 

name 
1'han all the gold that leaden minds can 

frame. 

Samuel Daniel. 



MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 

My minde to me a kingdom is ; 

Such perfect joy therein I finde 
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse 

That God or nature hath assignde ; 
Though much I want, that most would have, 
Yet still my minde forbids to crave. 

Content I live ; this is my stay — 
I seek no more than may suffice. 

I presse to beare no haughtie sway ; 
Look, what I lack my mind supplies. 

Loe, thus I triumph like a king. 

Content with that my mind doth bring. 

r see how plentie surfets oft, 
And hastie clymbers soonest fall ; 

I see that such as sit aloft 
Mishap doth threaten most of all. 

These get with toile, and keepe with feare ; 

Such cares my mind could never beare. 

N'o princely pompe nor welthie store, 

No force to win the victorie. 
No wylie wit to salve a sore, 

No shape to winne a lover's eye — 
To none of these I yeeld as thrall ; 
For why, my mind despiseth all. 



Some have too much, yet still they crave ; 

I little have, yet seek no more. 
They are but poore, though much they have 
. And I am rich with little store. 
They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; 
They lacke, I lend ; they pine, I live. 

I laugh not at another's losse, 
I grudge not at another's gaine ; 

No worldly wave my mind can tosse ; 
I brooke that is another's bane. 

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend ; 

I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. 

I joy not in no earthly blisse ; 

I weigh not Cresus' wealth a straw \ 
For care, I care not what it is ; 

I feare not fortune's fatal law ; 
My mind is such as may not move 
For beautie bright, or force of love. 

I wish but what I have at wiU ; 

I wander not to seeke for more ; 
I like the plaine, I clime no hill ; 

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, 
And laugh at them that toile in vaine 
To get what must be lost againe. 

I kisse not where I wish to kill ; 

I feigne not love where most I hate ; 
I breake no sleepe to winne my will ; 

I wayte not at the mi^htie's gate. 
I scorn e no poore, I feare no rich ; 
I feele no want, nor have too much. 

The court ne cart I like ne loath — 
Extreames are counted worst of all , 

The golden meane betwixt them both 
Doth surest sit, and feares no fall ; 

This is my choyce ; for why, I finde 

No wealth is like a quiet minde. 

My wealth is health and perfect ease ; 

My conscience clere my chiefe defence ; 
I never seeke by bribes to please, 

Nor by desert to give oftence. 
Thus do I live, thus will I die ; 
Would all iid so a? well as 1 1 

William EnvDi 



670 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



THE WINTER BEING OYEE. 

The winter being over, 
In order comes the spring, 
Which doth green herbs discover, 
And cause the birds to sing. 
The night also expii-ed, 
Then conies the morning bright, 
Which is so much desired 
By all that love the light. 

This may learn 

Them that mom*n. 
To put their grief to flight : 
The spring succeedeth winter, 
And day must follow night. 

He therefore that sustaineth 
Affliction or distress 
Which every member paineth. 
And findeth no release — 
Let such therefore despair not, 
But on firm hope depend, 
Whose griefs immortal are not, 
And therefore must have end. 

They that faint 

With complaint 
Therefore are to blame ; 
They add to their afflictions, 
And amplify the same. 

For if they could with patience 
Awhile possess the mind, 
By inward consolations 
They might refreshing find. 
To sweeten all their crosses 
That little time they 'dure ; 
So might they gain by losses. 
And sharp would sweet procure 

But if the mind 

Be inclined 
To un quietness, 
TTiat only may be called 
The worst of all distress. 

He that is melancholy, 
Detesting all delight, 
His wits by sottish folly 
Are ruinated quite. 



Sad discontent and murmurs 
To him are incident ; 
Were he possessed of honors, 
He could not be content. 

Sparks of joy 

Fly away ; 
Floods of care arise ; 
And all delightful motion 
In the conception dies. 

But those that are contented 
However things do fall. 
Much anguish is prevented. 
And they soon freed from alL 
They finish all their labors 
With much felicity ; 
Their joy in trouble savors 
Of perfect piety. 

Cheerfulness 

Doth express 
A settled pious mind. 
Which is not prone to grudging, 
From murmuring refined. 

Ann Collikh. 



SONNETS. 

Triumphing chariots, statues, crowns of bays, 
Sky-threatening arches, the rewards of worth ; 
Books heavenly-wise in sweet harmonious 

lays, 
Which men divine unto the world set forth; 
States which ambitious minds, in blood, do 

raise 
From frozen Tanais unto sun-burnt Gauge ; 
Gigantic frames held wonders rarely strange, 
Like spiders' webs, are made the sport of days. 
Nothing is constant but in constant change. 
What 's done still is undone, and when undone 
Into some other fashion doth it range; 
Thus goes the floating world beneath tbo 

moon ; 
Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, 

place. 
Rise up, and steps unknown to nature trace. 



1 



ODE TO BEAUTY. 



671 



A. GOOD that never satisfies the mind, 
A beauty fading like the April showers, 
A sweet with floods of gall that runs com- 
bined, 
A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours, 
A honor that more fickle is than wind, 
A glory at opinion's frown that lowers, 
A treasury which bankrupt time devours, 
A knowledge than grave ignorance more 

blind, 
A vain delight our equals to command, 
A style of greatness in effect a dream, 
A swelling thought of holding sea and land, 
A servile lot, decked with a pompous name : 
Are the strange ends we toil for here below 
Till wisest death makes us our errors know. 
Willi AJi Drummond. 



A SWEET PASTOEAL. 

Good muse, rock me asleep 
With some sweet harmony ! 
The weary eye is not to keep 
Thy wary company. 

Sweet love, begone awhile ! 
Thou know'st my heaviness ; 
Beauty is born but to beguile 
My heart of happiness. 

See how my little flock. 

That loved to feed on high, 

Do headlong tumble down the rock. 

And in the valley die. 

The bushes and the trees. 
That were so fresh and green, 
Do all their dainty color lease. 
And not a leaf is seen. 

Sweet Philomel, the bird 
That hath the heavenly throat. 
Doth now, alas ! not once afford 
Recording of a note. 

The flowers have had a frost ; 
Each herb hath lost her savor ; 
And Phillida, the fair, hath lost 
The comfort of her favor. 



Now all these careful sights 
So kill me in conceit. 
That how to hope upon delights 
Is but a mere deceit. 

And, therefore, my sweet muse. 
Thou know'st what help is best ; 
Do now thy heavenly cunning use 
To set my hea,rt at rest. 

And in a dream bewray 
What fate shall be my friend — 
Whether my life shall still decay, 
Or when my sorrow end. 

Nicholas Sks'ivk. 



ODE TO BEAUTY. 

Who gave thee, beauty, 
The keys of this breast, 
Too credulous lover 
Of blest aad unblest ? 
Say, when in lapsed ages 
Thee knew I of old ? 
Or what was the service 
For which I was sold? 
When first my eyes saw thee 
I found me thy thrall. 
By magical drawings. 
Sweet tyrant of all ! 
I drank at thy fountain 
False waters of thirst ; 
Thou intimate stranger, 
Thou latest and first! 
Thy dangerous glances 
Make women of men ; 
New-born, we are melting 
Into nature again. 

Lavish, lavish promiser, 
Nigh persuading gods to err I 
Guest of million painted forms. 
Which in turn thy glory warms ! 
Tlie frailest leaf, the mossy bark, 
The acorn's cup, the rain drop's arc. 
The swinging spider's silver line, 
The ruby of the drop of wine, 
Tlie shining pebble of the pond 
Thou inscribest with a bond. 



672 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



In thy momentary play, 

Would bankrupt nature to repay. 

Ah, what avails it 

To hide or to shun 

Whom the Infinite One 

Hath granted His throne ! 

The heaven high over 

Is the deep's lover ; 

The sun and sea, 

Informed by thee. 

Before me run, 

And draw me on, 

Yet fly me still, 

As fate refuses 

To me the heart fate for me chooses. 

Is it that my opulent soul 

Was mingled from the generous whole ; 

Sea- valleys and the deep of skies 

Furnished several supplies ; 

And the sands whereof I 'm made 

Draw me to them, self-betrayed ? 

I turn the proud portfolios 

Which hold the grand designs 

Of Salvator, of Guercino, 

And Piranesi's lines. 

I hear the lofty paeans 

Of the masters of the shell. 

Who heard the starry music 

And recount the numbers well ; 

Olympian bards who sung 

Divine ideas below. 

Which always find us young. 

And always keep us so. 

Oft, in streets or humblest places, 

I detect far- wandered graces, 

AYhich, from Eden wide astray. 

In lowly homes have lost their way. 

Thee gliding through the sea of form. 
Like the hghtning through the storm. 
Somewhat not to be possessed. 
Somewhat not to be caressed, 
No feet so fleet could ever find, 
l!^o perfect form could ever bind. 
Thou eternal fugitive. 
Hovering over all that live. 
Quick and skilful to inspire 
Sweet, extravagant desire, 
Starry space and lily-bell 
Filling with thy roseate smell. 



Wilt not give the lips to taste 
Of the nectar which thou hast. 

All that 's good and great with thee 
Works in close conspiracy ; 
Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely 
To report thy features only. 
And the cold and purple morning. 
Itself with thoughts of thee adorning ; 
The leafy dell, the city mart, 
Equal trophies of thine art ; 
E'en the flowing azure air 
Thou hast touched for my despair ; 
And, if I languish into dreams. 
Again I meet the ardent beams. 
Queen of things ! I dare not die 
In being's deeps past ear and eye ; 
Lest there I find the same deceiver. 
And be the sport of fate forever. 
Dread power, but dear ! if God thou be, 
Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me 
Kalph "Waldo Emebsox 



so:ng. 



Baeely, rarely comest thou. 

Spirit of delight ! 
Wherefore hast thou left me now 

Many a day and night ? 
Many a weary night and day 
'T is since thou art fled away. 

How shall ever one like me 

Win thee back again ? 
With the joyous and the free 

Thou wilt scoff at pain. 
Spirit false ! thou hast forgot 
All but those who heed thee not. 

As a hzard with the shade 

Of a trembling leaf, 
Thou with sorrow art dismayed ; 

Even the signs of grief 
Reproach thee, that thou art near^ 
And reproach thou wilt not hear. 

Let me set my mournful ditty 

To a merry measure : 
Thou wilt never come for pity 

Thou wilt come for pleasure. 



HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. 



679 



E^ty then will cut away 
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. 

I love all that thou lovest, 

Spirit of delight ! 
The fresh earth in new leaves drest, 

And the starry night ; 
Autumn evening, and the morn 
When the golden mists are born. 

I love snow, and all the forms 

Of the radiant frost ; 
I love waves and winds and streams, 

Everything almost 
Which is nature's, and may be 
Untainted by man's misery. 

I love tranquil solitude, 

And such society 
As is quiet, wise, and good ; 

Between thee and me 
What difference ? but thou dost possess 
The things I seek, not love them less. 

I love love, though he has wings, 

And like light can flee. 
But, above all other things, 

Spirit, I love thee : 
Thou art love and life ! oh come, 
Make once more my heart thy home ! 

Perot Bysshe Shelley. 



HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. 

The awful shadow of some unseen power 
Floats, though unseen, among us — visiting 
This various world with as inconstant wing 
As summer winds that creep from flower to 

flower ; 
Like moonbeams, that behind some piny 
mountain shower. 
It visits with inconstant glance 
Eacli numan heart and countenance. 
Like hues and harmonies of evening. 

Like clouds in starlight widely spread, 
Like memory of music fled. 
Like aught that for its grace may be 
Uear, and yet dearer for its mystery. 
89 



Spirit of beauty, that dost consecrate 
With thine own hues aU thou dost shine 

upon 
Of human thouglit or form, where art thou 
gone? 
Why dost thou pass away and leave our state. 
This dim, vast vale of tears, vacant and deso- 
late? 
Ask why the sunlight not for ever 
Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain 
river ; 
Why aught should fail and fade that once is 
shown ; 
Why fear, and dream, and death, and 

birth - 
Cast on the dayhght of this earth 
Such gloom ; why man has such a scope 
For love and hate, despondency and hope. 

No voice from some sublimer world hath ever 
To sage or poet these responses given; 
Therefore the names of demon, ghost, and 
heaven, 
Remain the records of their vain endeavor — 
Frail spells, whose uttered charm might not 
avail to sever 
From all we hear and all we see 
Doubt, chance, and mutability. 
Thy light alone, like mist o'er mountainsi 
driven. 
Or music by the night wind sent 
Through strings of some still instrument 
Or moonlight on a midnight stream. 
Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream. 

Love, hope, and self-esteem, like clouds de- 
part 
And come, for some uncertain momenta 

lent. 
Man were immortal and omnipotent 
Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art. 
Keep with thy glorious train firm state with- 
in his heart. 
Thou messenger of sympathies 
That wax and wane in lover's eyes I 
Thou that to human thought art nourishment, 
Like darkness to a dying flame ! 
Depart not as thy shadow came ! 
Depart not, lest the grave should be, 
Like life and fear, a dark reality. 



5U 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



While jet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped ' 
Through many a Hstening chamber, cave 

and ruin, 
And starhght wood, with fearM steps pur- 
suing 
Hopes of high talk with the departed dead. 
I called on poisonous names with which our 
youth is fed ; 
I was not heard ; I saw them not. 
When musing deeply on the lot 
Of life, at that sweet time when winds are 
wooing 
All vital things that wake to bring 
ITews of birds and blossoming, 
Sudden thy shadow fell on me — 
1 shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy ! 

[ vowed that I would dedicate my powers 
To thee and thine; have I not kept the 

vow? 
With beating heart and streaming' eyes, 
even now 
[ caU the phantoms of a thousand hours 
Each from his voiceless grave. They have in 
visioned bowers 
Of studious zeal or love's delight 
Out watched with me the envious night ; 
They know that never joy illumed my brow^ 
Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst 

free 
This world from its dark slavery — 
That thou, awful lovehness, 
Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot 
express. 

The day becomes more solemn and serene 
WTien noon is past ; there is a harmony 
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky. 
Which through the summer is not heard nor 

seen. 
As if it could not be, as if it had not been ! I 
Thus let thy power, which like the truth | 
Of nature on my passive youth 
Descended, to my onward life supply 
Its calm — to one w^ho worships thee, 
And .every form containing thee — 
Wliom, spirit fair, thy spells did bind 
To fear himself, and love all human kind. 

Pebct Btsshe Shellet. 



SWEET IS THE PLEASURE, 

Sweet is the pleasure 

Itself cannot spoil I 
Is not true leisure 

One with true toil ? 

Thou that wouldst taste it, 

Still do thy best ; 
Use it, not waste it — 

Else 't is no rest. 

Wouldst behold beauty 
Near thee ? all round ? 

Only hath duty 
Such a sight found. 

Eest is not quitting 

The busy career ; 
Eest is the fitting 

Of self to its sphere. 

'T is the brook's motion, 
Clear without strife, 

Fleeing to ocean 
After its hfe. 

Deeper devotion 

Nowhere hath knelt ; 

Fuller emotion 
Heart never felt. 

'T is loving and serving 
The highest and best ; 

T is onwards ! unswerving — 
And that is true rest. 

John Sfllivan Dwioin. 



STANZAS. 

Thought is deeper than all speech, 
Feeling deeper than all thought ; 
Souls to souls can never teach 
What unto themselves was taught. 

We are spirits clad in veils ; 
Man by man was never seen ; 
All our deep communing fails 
To remove the shadowy screen. 



I 



THE FOUNTAIN. 



675 



Heart to heart was never known ; 
Mind with mind did never meet ; 
We are columns left alone 
Of a temple once complete. 

Like the stars that gem the sky, 
Far apart though seeming near, 
In our light we scattered lie ; 
All is thus but starlight here. 

What is social company 
But a babbling summer stream ? 
What our wise philosophy 
But the glancing of a dream? 

Only when the sun of love 

Melts the scattered stars of thought, 

Only when we live above 

What the dim-eyed world hath taught, 

Only when our souls are fed 

By the fount which gave them birth. 

And by inspiration led 

Which they never drew from earth, 

We, like parted drops of rain. 
Swelling till they meet and run, 
Shall be all absorbed again. 
Melting, flowing into one. 

Christopher Pearse Ckanoh. 



THE TABLES TURNED. 

Up ! up, my friend! and quit your books. 
Or surely you '11 grow double ; 

Up ! up, my fi-iend ! and clear your looks ; 
Why all this toil and trouble ? 

The sun, above the mountain's head, 

A freshening lustre mellow 
Through all the long green fields has spread, 

His first sweet evening yellow. 

Books I 'tis a dull and endless strife; 

Come, hear the woodland linnet — 
How sweet his music ! on my life, 

There 's more of wisdom in it I 

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings I 
He, too, is no mean preacher; 

Come forth into the light of things — 
Let nature be your teacher. 



She has a world of ready wealth. 

Our minds and hearts to bless, — 
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by healthy 
. Truth breathed by cheerfulness. 

One impulse from a vernal wood 

May teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good. 

Than all the sages can. 

Sweet is the lore which nature brings ; 

Our meddling intellect 
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things— 

We murder to dissect 

Enough of science and or art ; 

Close up those barren leaves ; 
Come forth, and bring with you a heart 

That watches and receives. 

William Wordsw^oeth. 



\ 



THE FOUNTAIN. 



A CONVERSATION. 



We talked with open heart, and tongue 

Affectionate and true — 
A pair of friends, though I was young 

And Matthew seventy- two. 

We lay beneath a spreading oak, 

Beside a mossy seat ; 
And from the turf a fountain broke, 

And gurgled at our feet. 

*' Now, Matthew ! " said I, " let us match 

This water's pleasant tune 
With some old border-song or catch, 

That suits a summer's noon ; 

" Or of the church clock and the cliiraes 
Sing here, beneath the shade, 

That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 
Which you last April made ! " 

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 
The spring beneath the tree ; 

And thus the dear old man replied, 
The gray-haired man of glee : 

*' No check, no stay, this streamlet feai-e, 

How merrily it goes I 
'T will murmur on a thousand years, 

And flow as now it flows. 



376 



rOEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



" And here, on this delightful day 

I cannot choose bnt think 
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 

Beside this fountain's brink. 

*' My eyes are dim with childish tears, 

My heart is idly stirred ; 
For the same sound is in ray ears 

"Which in those days I heard. 

*' Thus fares it still in our decay ; 

And yet the wiser mind 
Mourns less for what age takes away 

Than what it leaves behind. 

" The blackbird amid leafy trees, 

The lark above the hill, 
Let loose their carols when they please. 

Are quiet when they will. 

" With nature never do they wage . 

A foolish strife ; they see 
A happy youth, and their old age 

Is beautiful and free. 

" But we are prest by heavy laws : 

And often, glad no more. 
We wear a face of joy, because 

We have been glad of yore. 

" If there be one who need bemoan 

His kindred laid in earth, 
The household hearts that were his own. 

It is the man of mirth. 

" My days, my friend, are almost gcine ; 

My life has been approved, 
And many love me ; but by none 

Am I enough beloved ! " 

"Kow both himself and me he wrongs. 

The man who thus complains ! 
I live and sing my idle songs 

Upon these happy plains ; 

" And, Matthew, for thy children dead, 

I '11 be a son to thee ! " 
At this he grasped my hand^ and said 

"Alas ! that cannot be." 



We rose up from the fountain side ; 

And down the smooth descent 
Of the green sheep-track did we ghde, 

And through the wood we went ; 

And, ere we came to Leonard's rock, 

He sang those witty rhymes 
About the crazy old church clock, 

And the bewildered chimes. 

W1LLIA.M W0BD8WOBTH 



THE CROWDED STREET. 

Let me move slowly through the street, 
Filled with an ever-shifting train. 

Amid the sound of steps that beat 
The murmuring walks like autumn rain. 

How fast the flitting figures come ! 

The mild, the fierce, the stony face — 
Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and soin 

Where secret tears have left their trace. 

They pass to toil, to strife, to rest — 
To halls in which the feast is spread — 

To chambers where the funeral guest 
In silence sits beside the dead. 



And some to happy homes repair, 

Where children pressing cheek to cheek, 

With mute caresses shall declare 
The tenderness they cannot speak. 

And some, who walk in calmness here, 
Shall shudder as they reach the door 

Where one who made their dwelling dear, 
Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 

Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame, 
And dreams of greatness in thine eye ^ 

Go'st thou to build an early name, 
Or early in the task to die ? 

Keen son of trade, with eager brow I 
Who is now fluttering in thy snare ? 

Thy golden fortunes, tower they now, 
Or melt the glittering spires in air ? 



THE SUNKEN CITY. 



677 



Who of this crowd to-night shall tread 
The dance till daylight gleam again ? 

Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? 
Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ? 

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long 
Tlie cold, dark hom-s, how slow the light ; 

And some, who flamit amid the throng, 
Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. 

Each where his tasks or pleasures call, 
They pass, and heed each other not. 

There is who heeds, who holds them all 
In His large love and houiidless thought. 

These struggling tides of life, that seem 
In wayward, aimless course to tend, 

A.re eddies of the mighty stream 
That rolls to its appointed end. 

William Cullen Beyant. 



GOOD-BYE. 

looD-BYE, proud world ! I 'm going home ; 
Thou art not my friend, and I 'm not thine. 
liOng through thy weary crowds I roam ; 
i river-ark on the ocean brine, 
Long I Ve been tossed like the driven foam ; 
3ut now, proud world I I 'm going home. 

Tood-bye to flattery's fawning face ; 

To grandeur with his wise grimace ; 

Co upstart wealth's averted eye ; 

Co supple office, low and high ; 

L o crowded halls, to court and street ; 

To frozen hearts and hasting feet ; 

To those who go and those who come — 

}ood-bye, proud world ! I 'm going home. 

am going to my own hearth-stone, 
3osomed in yon green hills alone — 
L secret nook in a pleasant land, 
rVhoso groves the frolic fairies planned ; 
fVhere arches green, the livelong day, 
i^cho the blackbird's roundelay, 
Vnd vulger feet h^re never trod — 
i spot that is sacred to thought and God. 



Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home, 
I tread on the pride of Greece and ]^ome ; 
And when I am stretched beneath the pines, 
Where the evening star so holy shines, 
I laugh at the lore and pride of man, 
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; 
For what are they all, in their high conceit. 
When man in the bush with God may meet? 
Ralph Waldo Emebson. 



THE SUNKEN CITY. 

Haek ! the faint bells of the sunken city 
Peal once more their wonted evening 
chime ! 

From the deep abysses floats a ditty. 
Wild and wondrous, of the olden time. 

Temples, towers, and domes of many stories 
There lie buried in an ocean grave — 

Undescried, save when their golden glories 
Gleam, at sunset, through the lighted wave. 

And the mariner who had seen them glisten, 
In whose ears those magic bells do sound, 
Night by night bides there to watch and lis- 
ten. 
Though death lurks behind each dai'k rock 
round. 

So the bells of memory's wonder-city 
Peal for me their old melodious chime ; 

So my heart pours forth a changeful ditty. 
Sad and pleasant, from the bygone time. 

Domes, and towers, and castles, ftincy-builded, 
There lie lost to daylight's garish beams — 

There lie hidden, till unveiled and gilded, 
Glory- gilded, by my nightly dreams! 

And then hear I music sweet upknelling 
From many a well-known phantom band. 

And, through tears, can see my natural dwell- 
ing 
Far off in the spirit's luminous land ! 

Wildelm Mueller, (German.) 
Translation of James Clarenob Manoan. 



378 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



GUY. 

MoETAL mixed of middle clay, 
Attempered to the night and dav, 
Interchangeable with things, 
Keeds no amulets or rings. 
Guy possessed the talisman 
That all things from him began ; 
And as, of old, Poly crates 
Chained the sunshine and the breeze, 
So did Guy betimes discover 
Fortuue was his guard and lover — 
In strange junctures felt, with awe, 
His own symmetry with law ; 
So that no mixture could withstand 
The virtue of his lucky hand. 
He gold or jewel could not lose, 
For not receive his ample dues. 
In the street, if he turned round, 
His eye the eye 't w^as seeking found. 
It seemed his genius discreet 
Worked on the maker's own receipt. 
And made each tide and element 
Stewards of stipend and of rent ; 
So that the common waters fell 
As costly wine into his well. 

He had so sped his wise affairs 
That he caught nature in his snares ; 
Early or late, the falhng rain 
Arrived in time to swell his grain ; 
Stream could not so perversely wind 
But corn of Guy's was there to grind ; 
The siroc found it on its way 
To speed his sails, to dry his hay ; 
And the world's sun seemed to ris'^ 
To drudge all day for Guy the wise. 
In his rich nurseries timely skill 
Strong crab with nobler blood did fill ; 
The zephyr in his garden rolled 
From plum trees vegetable gold ; 
And aU the hours of the year 
With their own harvests honored were. 
There was no frost but welcome came, 
Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame. 
Belonged to wind and w^orld the toil 
And venture, and to Guy the oil. 

Ealph Waldo Emkbson. 



TEMPERANCE, OPv THE CHEAP PlIY 
SICIAN, 

Go now ! and with some daring drug 
Bait thy disease ; and, whilst they tug, 
Thou, to maintain their precious strife. 
Spend the dear treasures of thy life. 
Go ! take physic — dote upon 
Some big-named composition. 
The oraculous doctor's mystic biUs — 
Certain hard words made into pills; 
And what at last shalt gain by these ? 
Only a costher disease. 
That which makes us have no need 
Of physic, that 's physic indeed. 
Hark, hither, reader ! wilt thou see 
Nature her old physician be ? 
Wilt see a man all his own wealth, 
His own music, his own health — 
A man whose sober soul can tell 
How to wear her garments well — 
Her garments that upon her sit 
As garments should do, close and fit — 
A well-clothed soul that's not oppressed 
Nor choked with what she should be dressed-— 
A soul sheathed in a crystal shrine. 
Through which all her bright features shine ; 
As when a piece of wanton lawn, j 

A thin aerial veil is drawn 
O'er beauty's face, seeming to hide, 
More sweetly shows the blushing bride^ 
A soul whose intellectual beams 
No mists do mask, no lazy streams — 
A happy soul, that aU the way 
To heaven hath a summer's day? 
Wouldst see a man whose well-warmed blo< 
Bathes him in a genuine flood ? — 
A man whose tuned humors be 
A seat of rarest harmony ? 
Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks, bo- 
guile 
Age ? Wouldst see December's smile ? 
Wouldst see nests of new roses grow 
In a bed of reverend snow ? 
Warm thoughts, fi^ee spirits flatterin.fir 
Winter's self into a spring? — 
In sum, wouldst see a man that can 
Live to be old, and still a man ? 
Whose latest and most leaden hours 
Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers; 



SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED. 



670 



knd when life's sweet fable ends, 
Soul and body part like friends- 
No quarrels, murmurs, no delay — 
K kiss, a sigh, and so away ? 
This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see ? 
Hark, hither! and thyself be he. 

ElOHAED CEA8HAW. 



BACCHUS. 

Bring me wine, but wine which never grew 

In the belly of the grape. 

Or grew on vines whose tap-roots, reaching 

through 
Under the Andes to the Cape, 
Suffered no savor of the earth to 'scape. 

Let its grapes the morn salute 

From a nocturnal root. 

Which feels the acrid juice 

Of Styx and Erebus ; 

And tarns the woe of night, 

By its own craft, to a more rich delight. 

We buy ashes for bread. 

We buy diluted wine; 

Give me of the true, — 

Whose ample leaves and tendrils curled 

Among the silver hills of heaven. 

Draw everlasting dew ; 

Wine of wine. 

Blood of the world, 

Form of forms and mould of statures, 

That I intoxicated. 

And by the draught assimilated. 

May float at pleasure through all natures ; 

The bird-language rightly spell. 

And that which roses say so well. 

Wine that is shed 

Like the torrents of the sun 

Up the horizon walls, 

Or like the Atlantic streams, which run 

Wlion the South Sea calls. 

Water and bread, 

Food which needs no transmuting, 
Rainbow-flowering, wisdom-fruiting 
Wine which is already man. 
Food which teach and reason can. 



Wine which music is, — 

Music and wine are one, — 

That I, drinking this. 

Shall hear far chaos talk with mo ; 

Kings unborn shall vralk with me; 

And the poor grass shall plot and plan 

What it will do when it is man. 

Quickened so, will I unlock 

Every crypt of every rock. 

I thank the joyful juice 
For all I know : — 
Winds of remembering 
Of the ancient being blow. 
And seeming-solid walls of use 
Open and flow. 

Pour, Bacchus ! the remembering wine ; — 

Eetrieve the loss of me and mine ! 

Vine for the vine be antidote. 

And the grapes requite the lote I 

Haste to cure tlie old despair, — 

Reason in nature's lotus drenched, 

The memory of ages quenched. 

Give them again to shine ; 

Let wine repair what this undid ; 

And where the infection slid, 

A dazzling memory revive ; 

Refresh the faded tints, 

Recut the aged prints, 

And write my old adventures with the pen 

Which on the first day drew, 

Upon the tablets blue. 

The dancing Pleiads and eternal men. 

Ralph Waldo Emebson. 



SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED. 

PART I. 

This Indian weed, now withered quite, 
Though green at noon, cut down at night 

Shows thy decay — 

All flesh is hay : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The pipe, so lily-like and weak, 
Does thus thy mortal state bespeak ; 
Thou art e'en such — 
Gone with a touch : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



380 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



And when the smoke ascends on Mgh, 
Then thou behold'st the vanity 

Of worldly stuff — 

Gone with a puff: 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

And when the pipe grows foul within, 
Think on thy soul defiled with sin ; 

Fol* then the fire 

It does require : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

And seest the ashes cast away, 
Then to thyself thou may est say 
That to the dust 
Return thou must : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 



PAET II. 

Was this small plant for thee cut down ? 
So was the plant of great renown, 

Which mercy sends 

For nobler ends : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

Doth juice medicinal proceed 
From such a naughty foreign weed ? 
Then what's the power 
Of Jesse's flower ? 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The promise, like the pipe, inlays, 
And by the mouth of faith conveys 
Wliat virtue flows 
From Sharon's rose : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

In vain the unlighted pipe you blow— 
Your pains in outward means are so, 

'Till heavenly fire 

Your heart inspire : 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

The smoke like burning incense towers ; 
So should a praying heart of yours 

With ardent ciies 

Surmount the skies: 
Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 

AlfONYMOUS. 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 

IN IMITATION OF THE TENTH SATIEE OV 
JirVENAL. 

Let observation, with extensive view, 
Survey mankind from China to Peru ; 
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, 
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life : 
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate, 
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of 

fate, 
Wliere wavering man, betrayed by venturous 

pride 
To chase the dreary paths without a guide. 
As treacherous phantoms in the mist delude, 
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good ; 
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice, 
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant 

voice ; 
How nations sink, by darling schemes op- 
pressed. 
When vengeance hstens to the fool's request. 
Fate wings with every wish the afflictive dart, 
Each gift of nature and each grace of art ; 
With fatal heat impetuous courage glows, 
With fatal sweetness elocution flows. 
Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful 

breath. 
And restless fire precipitates on death. 

But, scarce observed, the knowing and the 
bold 

Fall in the general massacre of gold ; 

Wide wasting pest! that rages unconfined 

And crowds with crimes the records of man- 
kind; 

For gold his sword the hirehng ruffian draws, 

For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws ; 

Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor 
safety buys. 

The dangers gather as the treasures rise. 

Let history tell where rival kings command, 
And dubious title shakes the madded land, 
When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, 
How much more safe the vassal than the lord , 
Low skulks the hind below the rage of power 
And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 



681 



Untouched his cottage, and his slumbers 

sound, 
Though confiscation's vultures hover round. 

The needy traveller, serene and gay, 
Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. 
Does envy seize thee ? crush the upbraiding 

joy, 
Jjicrease his riches, and his peace destroy : 
Now fears in dire vicissitude invade. 
The rustling brake alarms, and quivering 

shade. 
Nor light nor darkness brings his pain relief, 
One shows the plunder and one hides the 
thief. 

Yet still one general cry the skies assails, 

And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales ; 

Few know the toiling statesman's fear or 
care, 

The insidious rival and the gaping heir. 
Once more, Democritus,. arise on earth. 

With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth ; 

See motley life in modern trappings dressed. 

And feed with varied fools the eternal jest : 

Diou who couldst laugh, where want en- 
chained caprice. 

Toil crushed conceit, and man was of a piece ; 

Where wealth unloved without a mourner 
died, 

And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride ; 

Where ne'er was known the form of mock 
debate. 

Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state ; 

Where change of favorites made no change 
of laws, 

And senates heard before they judged a 
cause ; 

How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish 
tribe, 

Dart the quick taunt and edge the piercing 
gibe? 

Attentive truth and nature to descry, 

And pierce each scene with philosophic eye. 

To thee were solemn toys, or empty show. 

The robes of pleasure, and the veils of woe : 

All aid the farce, and all thy mirth main- 
tain, 

W^hose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are 
vain. 



Such was the scorn that filled the sage's 
mind, 
Kenewed at every glance on human kind; 
How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare 
Search every state, and canvass every prayer. 

Unnumbered suppliants crowd preferment's 

gate, 
Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great ; 
Delusive fortune hears the incessant call, 
They mount, they shine, evaporate and fall. 
On every stage the foes of peace attend, 
Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks theii 

end. 
Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's 

door 
Pours in the mourning worshipper no more; 
For growing names the weekly scribbler lies, 
To growing wealth the dedicator flies ; 
From every room descends the painted face 
That hung the bright palladium of the place, 
And, smoked in kitchens, or in auctions sold. 
To better features yields the frame of gold ; 
For now no more we trace in every line 
Heroic worth, benevolence divine ; 
The form distorted justifies the fall. 
And detestation rids the indignant wall. 

But will not Britain hear the last appeal. 
Sign her foes' doom, or guard the favorite's 

zeal? 
Through freedom's sons no more remon- 
strance rings. 
Degrading nobles and controlling kings; 
Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats, 
And ask no questions but the price of votes ; 
With weekly libels and septennial ale, 
Their wish is full to riot and to rail. 

In full-flown dignity sec Wolsey stand, 
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand ; 
To him the church, the realm, their powers 

consign. 
Through him the rays of regal bounty shine, 
Turned by his nod the stream of honor flows, 
His smile alone security bestows ; 
Still to new heights his restless wishes tower. 
Claim leads to claim, and power advances 

power ; 



582 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



rill conquest unresisted ceased to please, 
And rights submitted left him none to seize ; 
At length his sovereign L'owns — the train of 

state 
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to 

hate; 
Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye. 
His suppliants scorn him. and his followers 

fly; 

Now drops at once the pride of awful state, 
The golden canopy, the glittering plate, 
The regal palace, the luxurious board. 
The iiveried army, and the menial lord ; 
With age, with cares, with maladies oppressed, 
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest ; 
Grief aids disease, remembered folly stings. 
And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 

Speak, thou whose thoughts at humble 

peace repine. 
Shall Wolsey's wealth with Wolsey's end be 

thine ? 
Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content, 
The wisest justice on the banks of Trent? 
For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate, 
On weak foundations raise the enormous 

weight ? 
Why but to sink beneath misfortune's blow, 
With louder ruin to the gulfs below ? 

What gave great Yilliers to the assassin's 

knife. 
And fixed disease on Harley's closing life ? 
What murdered Wentworth, and what exiled 

Hyde, 
By kings protected, and to kings allied? 
What but their wish indulged in courts to 

shine. 
And power too great to keep or to resign ? 

When first the college rolls receive his 

name, 
The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame ; 
Resistless burns the fever of renown, 
Caught from the strong contagion of the 

gown; 
O'er Bodley's dome his future labors spread. 
And Bacon's mansion trembles o'er his head. 
Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious^ 

youth, 
And virtue guard thee to the throne of truth ! 



Yet should thy soul indulge the generous heat 
Till captive science yields her last retreat ; 
Should reason guide thee with her brightest 

i-ay, 
And pour on misty doubt resistless day ; 
Should no false kindness lure to loose delight. 
Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright ; 
Should tempting novelty thy cell refrain, 
And sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain ; 
Should beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart. 
Nor claim the triumph of a lettered heart ; 
Should no disease the torpid veins invade, 
Nor melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade ; 
Yet hope not life from grief or danger free. 
Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee. 
Deign on the passing world to turn thine 

eyes, 
And pause awhile from letters to be wise ; 
There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, 
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. 
See nations, slowly wise and meanly just, 
To buried merit raise the tardy bust. 
If dreams yet flatter, yet again attend, 
Hear Lydiat's hfe, and Galileo's end. 

Nor deem, when learning her last prize 

bestows, 
The glittering eminence exempt from foes ; 
Se^, when the vulgar 'scapes, despised or 

awed, 
Eebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud. 
From meaner minds though smaller fines 

content, 
The plundered palace or sequestered rent, 
Marked out by dangerous parts, he meets the 

shock. 
And fatal learning leads him to the block ; 
Around his tomb let art and genius weep. 
But hear his death, ye blockheads, hear and 

sleep. 

The festal blazes, the triumphant show. 
The ravished standard, and the captive foe, 
The senate's thanks, the gazette's pompou!? 

tale. 
With force resistless o'er the brave prevail. 
Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirled. 
For such the steady Roman shook the world ; 
For such in distant lands the Britons shine, 
And stain with blood the Danube or the 
Ehine ; 



m 



THE VANITY OF HCJMA^ WISHES. 



riiis power has praise, that virtue scarce can 

warm 
Till fame supplies the universal charm. 
Tet reason frowns on war's unequal game, 
Where wasted nations raise a single name ; 
And mortgaged states their grandsire's wreaths 

regret, 
F^'om age to age iu everlasting debt ; 
Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right 

convey 
To rust on medals, or on stones decay. 

On what foundation stands the warrior's 
pride, 
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles 

decide : 
A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 
No dangers fright him, and no labors tire ; 
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 
Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain ; 
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, 
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field ; 
Behold surrounding kings their powers com- 
bine. 
And one capitulate, and one resign ; 
Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms 

in vain ; 
" Think nothing gained," he cries, " till naught 

remain, 
On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly. 
And all be mine beneath the polar sky !" 
The march begins in military state, 
And nations on his eye suspended wait ; 
Stern famine guards the solitary coast, 
And winter barricades the realms of frost ; 
He comes, nor want nor cold his course de- 
lay ;— 
Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day: 
The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands. 
And shows his miseries in distant lands ; 
Condemned a needy suppliant to wait, 
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. 
But did not chance at length her error mend? 
Did no subverted empire mark his end ? 
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? 
Or hostile millions press him to the ground? 
His fall was destined to a barren strand, 
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; 
He left the name, at which the world grew 

pale. 
To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 



All times their scenes of pompous woes 

afibrd. 
From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord. 
In gay hostility and barbarous pride. 
With half mankind embattled at his side. 
Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain 

prey. 
And starves exhausted regions in his way ; 
Attendant flattery counts his myriads o'er, 
Till counted myriads soothe his pride nc 

more ; 
Fresh praise is tried till madness fires his 

mind. 
The waves he lashes, and enchains the 

wind, 
New powers he claims, new powers are still 

bestowed, 
Till rude resistance lops the spreading god. 
The daring Greeks deride the martial show, 
And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe ; 
The insulted sea with humbler thought he 

gains, 
A single skifl" to speed his flight remains ; 
The encumbered oar scarce leaves the di*eaded 

coast 
Through purple billows and a floating host. 

The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour, 
Tries the dread summits of C^esarean power. 
With unexpected legions bursts away. 
And sees defenceless realms receive his swa^ , 
Short sway ! fair Austria spreads her mourn- 
ful charms. 
The queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms ; 
From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze 
Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of 

praise ; 
The fierce Croatian and the wild Hussar, 
With all the sons of ravage crowd the war ; 
The baffled prince, in honor's flattering bloom 
Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom, 
His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, 
And steals to death from anguish and from 
shame. 

"Enlarge my life with multitude of days I " 
In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant 

prays ; 
Hides from himself its state, and shuns to 

know 
That life protracted is protracted woe. 



684 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, 

And shuts up all the passages of joy. 

In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, 

The fruit autumnal and the vernal flower ; 

With listless eyes the dotard views the store. 

He views, and wonders that they please no 
more ; 

IsTow pall the tasteless meats, and joyless 
wines, 

And luxury with sighs her slave resigns. 

Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing 
strain, 

Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain ; 

ISTo sounds, alas! would touch the impervious 
ear. 

Though dancing mountains witnessed Or- 
pheus near ; 

Xor lute nor lyre his feebler powers attend, 

ISTor svreeter music of a virtuous friend ; 

But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue. 

Perversely grave, or positively wrong. 

The still returning tale, and lingering jest - 

Perplex the fawning niece and pampered 
guest. 

While growing hopes scarce awe the gather- 
ing sneer. 

And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear ; 

The watchful guests still hint the last offbnce ; 

The daughter's petulance, the son's expense; 

Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill, 

And mould his passions till they make his 
will. 

Unnumbered maladies his joints invade. 
Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade; 
But unextinguished avarice still remains, 
And dreaded losses aggravate his pains ; 
He turns, with anxious heart and crippled 

hands. 
His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands ; 
Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes. 
Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. 

But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime 
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or 

crime ; 
An age that melts with unperceived decay. 
And glides in modest innocence away; 
Whose peaceful day benevolence endears. 
Whose night congratulating conscience 

cheers : 



The general favorite as the general friend ; 
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end? 

Yet even on this her load misfortune flings, 
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; 
ISTew sorrow rises as the day returns, 
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns ; 
Now kindred merit fills the sable bier. 
Now lacerated friendship claims a tear ; 
Year chases year, decay pursues decay. 
Still drops some joy from withering life 

away ; 
New forms arise, and different views en- 



Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage, 
Till pitying nature signs the last release, 
And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. 

But few there are whom hours like these 
await, 
Who set unclouded in the gulfs of fate. 
From Lydia's monarch should the search de- 
scend. 
By Solon cautioned to regard his end, 
In life's last scene what prodigies surprise, 
Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise : 
From Marlborough's eyes the streams of do- 
tage flow, 
And Swift expires a driveler and a show ! 

The teeming mother, anxious for her race. 

Begs for each birth the fortune of a face ; 

Yet Yane could tell what ills from beauty 
spring; 

And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a 
king. 

Ye nymphs of rosy hps and radiant eyes. 

Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise ; 

W^hom joys with soft varieties invite, 

By day the frolic, and the dance by night ; 

Who frown with vanity, who smile with 
art. 

And ask the latest fashion of the heart ; 

What care, what rules, your heedless charms 
shall save. 

Each nymph your rival, and each youth your 
slave ? 

Against your fame with fondness hate com- 
bines. 

The rival batters, and the lover mines : 



DOWN LAY IN A NOOK. 



085 



^itli distant voice neglected virtue calls, 

Less heard and less, tlie faint remonstrance 
falls; 

Fired witli contempt, she quits the slippery 
reign. 

And pride and prudence take her seat in 
vain. 

[n crowd at once, where none the pass de- 
fend, 

Ihe harmless freedom, and the private friend ; 

The guardians yield, by force superior plied : 

To interest, prudence ; and to flattery, pride. 

Here beauty falls betrayed, despised, dis- 
tressed, 

And hissing infamy proclaims the rest. 



Where then shall hope and fear their objects 

find? 
Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant 

mind ? 
Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate. 
Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate ? 
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise. 
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies ? 
Inquirer, cease ; petitions yet remain 
Wliich heaven may hear, nor deem religion 

vain. 
Still raise for good the supplicating voice, 
But leave to heaven the measure and the 

choice. 
Safe in His power whose eyes discern afar 
The secret ambush of a specious prayer, 
Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, 
Secure, whate'er He gives, He gives the best. 
Yet, when the sense of secret presence fires. 
And strong devotion to the skies aspires, 
Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind. 
Obedient passions, and a will resigned ; 
For love, which scarce collective man can 

fill; 
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill ; 
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat. 
Counts death kind nature's signal of retreat. 
Tliosc goods for man the laws of heaven or- 
dain; 
These goods he grants, who grants the power 

to gain ; 
With these celestial wisdom calms the mind. 
And maifes the nappmess sue does not find. 



HENCE ALL YOU VAIN DELIGHTS. 

Heitce all you vain delights. 
As short as are the nights 

Wherein you spend your folly ! 
There's naught in this hfe sweet, 
If man were wise to see 't. 

But only melancholy ; 

Oh sweetest melancholy ! 
Welcome folded arms and fixed eyes, 
A sigh that, piercing, mortifies, 
A look that 's fastened to the ground, 
A tongue chained up without a sound I 
Fountain heads and pathless groves ; 
Places which pale passion loves ; 
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls ; 

A midnight bell, a parting groan — 

These are the sounds we feed upon ; 
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomj 

valley. 
Nothing 's so dainty sweet as lovely mel- 
ancholy. 

BKAXJilONT AND FlETCIIEK. 



SONG. 



Down lay in a nook ray lady's brach 
And said, my feet are sore ; 
I cannot follow with the pack 
A-huntinff of the boar. 



And though the horn sounds never so clear, 
With the hounds in loud uproar, 
Yet I must stop and lie down here. 
Because my feet are sore. 

The huntsman, when he heard the same, 

What answer did he give ? 

The dog that 's lame is much to blame, 

lie is not fit to live. 

Henrt Taylcr. 



586 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



DEJECTION": AN ODE, 

Late, liite yestreen I saw the new moon, 
"With the old moon in her arm 
And I fear, I fear, my master dear ! 
"We shall have a deadly storm. 

Ballad op Sir Patrick Spence. 



Well! if the bard was weather-wise, who 
made 
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, 
This night, so tranquil now, will not go 
henco 
Unroiised by winds that ply a busier trade 
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy 

flakes, 
Or the dull sobbing draft that moans and 
rakes 
Fpon the strings of the Eolian lute, 
Which better far were mute. 
For lo ! the new-moon, winter-bright, 
And overspread with phantom light — 
With swimming phantom light overspread, 
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread ! 
1 see the old moon in her lap, foretelhng 

The coming on of rain and squally blast. 
And oh! that even now the gust were swell- 
ing, 
And the slant night- shower driving loud 
and fast ! 
Those sounds, which oft have raised me whilst 
they awed, 
And sent my soul abroad, 
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse 

give — 
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move 
and live. 



II. 

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear — 
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief. 
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief. 
In word, or sigh, or tear — 

lady ! in this wan and heartless mood. 

To other thoughts by yonder throstle wooed. 
All this long eve, so balmy and serene. 

Have I been gazing on the western sky, 
x\nd its pecuhar thit ui yellow green ; 

And still I gaze — and with how blank an eye ! 



And those thin clouds above, in flakes and 

bars. 
That give away their motion to the stars — 
Those stars, that glide behind them or be- 
tween, 
Now spat-kling, now bedimraed, but alwa^^* 

seen — 
Yon crescent moon, as fixed as if it grew 
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue : 
I see them all so excellently fair — 
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are ! 

III. 
My genial spirits fail ; 
And what can these avail 
To lift the smothering weight from off my 
breast ? 
It were a vain endeavor. 
Though I should gaze forever 
On that green light that lingers in the west ; 
I may not hope from outward forms to win 
The passion and the life whose fountains are. 
within. 



lady! we receive but what we give, 
And in our fife alone does nature live ; 
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her 
shroud ! 
And would we aught behold of higher 
worth 
Than that inanimate cold world allowed 
To the poor, loveless, ever-anxious crowd — 
Ah ! from the soul itself must issue forth 
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud 

Enveloping the earth ; 
And from the soul itself must there be sent 

A sweet and potent voice of its own birth. 
Of all sweet sounds the life and element ! 



pure of heart ! thou need'st not ask of me 
What this strong music in the soul may be— 
What, and wherein it doth exist — 
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, 
This beautiful and beauty-making power. 
Joy, virtuous lady! Joy that ne'er waf 
given 
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour — 
Life, and life*s effluence, cloud at once and 
shower 



DEJECTION — AN ODE. 



687 



Joy, lady, is the spirit and the power 
Which, wedding nature to us, gives in dower 

A new earth and new heaven, 
CFndreamt of bv the sensual and the proud- 
Joy is the sweet voice, joy the luminous 
cloud — 
We in ourselves rejoice ! 
And thence flows all that charms our ear or 
sight — 
All melodies the echoes of that voice, 
All colors a suffusion from that light. 

VI, 

There was a time when, though my path was 
rough, 
This joy within me dallied with distress ; 
And aU misfortunes were but as the stuff 
Whence fancy made me dreams of happi- 
ness. 
For hope grew round me like the twining 

vine; 
And fruits a,nd foliage, not my own, seemed 

mine. 
But now afflictions bow me down to earth, 
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth ; 

But oh ! each visitation 
8aspends what nature gave me at my birth. 

My shaping spirit of imagination. 
For not to think of what I needs must feel, 

But to be still and patient, all I can ; 
And haply by abstruse research to steal 
From my own nature all the natural man — 
This ^as my sole resource, my only plan ; 
Till that which suits a part infects the whole. 
And now is almost grown the liabit of my 
soul. 

YII. 

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my 
mind — 
Reality's dark dream ! 
I turn from you, and listen to the wind, 
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a 
scream 
Of agony, by torture lengthened out. 
That lute sent forth ! Thou wind, that ravest 
without ! 
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted 
tree. 
Orpine-grove whither woodman never clorab, 
Or lonely hou^e, long hold rlie witche.«»' )io:ue, 



Methinks were fitter instruments for thee, 
Mad lutanist ! who, in this month of showers, 
Of dark brown gardens, and of peeping 

flowers, 
Mak'st devils' yule, with worse than wintry 

song. 
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves 
among ! 
Thou actor, perfect in all tragic sounds I 
Thou mighty poet, e'en to frenzy bold ! 
What tell'st thou now about ? 
'T is of the rushing of a host in rout, 
With groans of trampled men, with smart- 
ing wounds — 
At once they groan with pain, and shudder 

with the cold. 
But hark I there is a pause or deepest silence ! 
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd. 
With groans, and tremulous shudderings — all 
is over — 
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep 
and loud ; 
A tale of less affright, 
And tempered with delight, 
As Otway's self had framed the tender 
lay: 
'T is of a little child 
Upon a lonesome wild — 
Not far from home, but sh« hath lost her 

way ; 
And now moans low in bitter grief and 

fear — 
And now screams loud, and hopes to make 
her mother hear. 

vni. 
'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of 

sleep ; 
Full seldom may my friend such vigils 

keep I 
Visit her, geut^e sleep, with wings of heal* 
ing! 
And may this storm be but a mountain- 
birth ; 
May all the stars hang bright above her 
dwelling, 
Silent as though they watched the sleeping 
earth 1 
With light heart may she rise, 
Gay fancy, oheerftil eye 



POEMS OF {SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice ! 
To her may all things live, from pole to pole — 
Their life the edclymg of her living sonl ! 

O simple spirit, guided from ahove! 
Dear lady ! friend devoutest of my choice ! 
Thus may est thou ever, evermore rejoice. 
Samuel Taylor Coleeidge. 



SIE MARMADUKE. 

Sib Maemaduke was a hearty knight — 

Good man ! old man ! 
He 's painted standing bolt upright, 

"With his hose rolled over his knee ; 
His periwig 's as white as chalk. 
And on his fist he holds a hawk ; 

And he looks like the head 
Of an ancient family. 

His dining-room was long and wide — ' 

Good man ! old man ! 
His spaniels lay by the fireside ; 

And in other parts, d' ye see. 
Cross-hows, tobacco pipes, old hats, 
A saddle, his wife, and a litter of cats ; 

And he looked like the head 
Of an ancient family. 

He never turned the poor from the gate — 

Good man ! old man ! 
But was always ready to break the pate 

Of his country's enemy. 
What knight could do a better thing 
Than serve the poor, and fight for his king ? 

And so may every head 
Of an ancient family. 

Geokge Colsian, " the younger." 



I AM A FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 

I AM a friar of orders gray. 
And down in the valleys I take my way ; 
I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip — 
Good store of venison fills my scrip ; 
My long bead-roll I merrily chant ; 
Wliere'er I walk no money I want, 



A]id why I'm so plump the reason I tell — 
Who leads a good life is sure to live well. 

What baron or squire. 

Or knight of the shire. 

Lives half so well as a holy friar! 

After supper of heaven I dream. 
But that is a pullet and clouted cream ; 
Myself, by denial, I mortify — 
With a dainty bit of a warden pie ; 
I 'm clothed in sackcloth for my sin — 
With old sack wine I'm lined within; 
A chirping cup is my matin song, 
And the vesper's bell is my bowl, ding dongi 
What baron or squire, 
Or knight of the shire, 
Lives half so well as a holy friar 
John O'Keefb. 



1 



THE AGE OF WISDOM. 

Ho ! pretty page, with the dimpled chin, 
That never has known the barber's shear, 

All your wish is woman to win ; 

This is the way that boys begin — 
Wait till you come to forty year. 

Curly gold locks cover foolish brains ; 

Billing and cooing is all your cheer — 
Sighing, and singing of midnight strains. 
Under Bonnybell's window panes — 

Wait tiU you come to forty year. 

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass ; 

Grizzling hair the brain doth clear ; 
Then you know a boy is an ass, 
Then you know the worth of a lass— 

Once you have come to forty year. 

Pledge me round ; I bid ye declare, 

All good fellows whose beards are gray — 
Did not the fairest of the fair 
Common grow and wearisome ere 
Ever a month was past away ? 

The reddest lips that ever have kissed. 

The brightest eyes that ever have shone, 
May pray and whisper and we not list. 
Or look away and never be miesud - 
Eie yet ever a month is gone. 



THE LAST LEAF. 



689 



Gilliaii 's dead ! God rest her bier — 
How I loved her twenty years syne ! 

Marian 's married ; but I sit here, 

Alone and merry at forty year, 
Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. 

William Makepeace Thackeeay. 



TO PERILLA. 

Ah, my Perilla ! dost thou grieve to see 
Me, day by day, to steal away from thee ? 
Age calls me hence, and my gray hairs bid 

come, 
And haste away to mine eternal home ; 
'T will not be long, Perilla, after this 
That I must give thee the supremest kiss. 
Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring 
Part of the cream from that religious spring. 
With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet ; 
That done, then wind me in that very sheet 
Which wrapped thy smooth limbs when thou 

didst implore 
The gods' protection, but the night before ; 
Follow me weeping to my turf, and there 
Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear. 
Then lastly, let some weekly strewings be 
Devoted to the memory of me ; 
Then shall my ghost not walk about, but 

keep 
Still in the cool and silent shades of sleej). 

Egbert Heeeiok. 



THE ONE GBAY HAIR. 

The wisest of the wise 
Listen to pretty lies. 

And love to hear them told ; 
Doubt not that Solomon 
Listened to many a one — 
Some in his youth, and more when he grew 
old. 

1 never sat among 

The choir of wisdom's song. 

But pretty lies loved I 
As much as any king — 
When youth was on the wing, 
A.nd (must it then be told?) when youth had 
quite gone by. 
91 



Alas ! and I have not 
The pleasant hour forgot. 

When one pert lady said — 
" 0, Landor ! I am quite 
Bewildered with affright ; 
I see (sit quiet now !) a white hair on youi 
head ! " 

Another, more benign, 
Drew out that hair of mine, 
And in her own dark hair 
Pretended she had found 
That one, and twirled it round. 
Fair as she was, she never was so fair. 

Walteb Savage Landoa 



THE LAST LEAF. 

I SAW him once before, 
As he passed by the door; 

And again 
The pavement-stones resound 
As he totters o'er the ground 

With his cane. 

They say that in his prime. 
Ere the pruning-knife of timo 

Cut him down, 
E"ot a better man was found 
By the crier on his round 

Through the town. 

But now he walks the streets. 
And he looks at all he meets 

So forlorn; 
And he shakes his feeble head. 
That it seems as if he said, 

" They are gone." 

The mossy marbles rest 

On the lips that he has pressed 

In their bloom ; 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for mnny a year 

On the tomb. 

My grandmamma has said — 
Poor old lady ! she is dead 



BkK) 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Long ago — 
That he had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow. 

BxA, now his nose is thin, 
And it rests upon his chin 

Like a staff; 
And a crook is in his back, 
And a melancholy crack 

In his laugh. 

I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 

At him here. 
But the old three-cornered hat, 
And the breeches — and all that, 

Are so queer ! 

And if I should live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring. 
Let them smile, as I do now, 
Aii the old forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



MEMORY. 

The mother of the muses, we are taught. 
Is memory; she has left me ; they remain. 
And shake my shoulder, urging me to sing 
About the summer days, my loves of old. 
''Alas! alas! " is all I can reply. 
Memory has left with me that name alone, 
Earmonious name, which other bards may 

sing. 
But her bright iniage in my darkest hour 
Comes back, in vain comes back, called or 

uncalled. 
Forgotten are the names of visitors 
Ready to press my hand but yesterday ; 
Forgotten are the names of earlier friends 
Whose genial converse and glad countenance 
Are fresh as ever to mine ear and eye; 
To these, when I have wricten, and besought 
Remembrance of me, the word "Dear" aione 
Hangs on the upper "erge, and waits in vain. 
A. blessing wert thou, O oblivion, 



If thy stream carried only weeds away, 
But vernal and autumnal flowers alike 
It hurries down to wither on the strand. 

Walter Savage Landois, 



WAITING BY THE GATE. 

Beside a massive gateway built up in yean 

gone by, 
Upon whose top the clouds in eternal shadow 

lie, 
While streams the evening sunshine on quie 

wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges tur 

for me. 

The tree tops faintly rustle beneath the 

breeze's flight, 
A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of 

the night; 
I hear the woodthrush piping one mellow 

descant more. 
And scent the flowers that blow when tl'f 

heat of day is o'er. 

Behold the portals open, and o'er the thresh- 
old, now, 

There steps a weary one with a pale and far- 
rowed brow ; 

His count of years is full, his allotted task 'a 
wrought ; 

He passes to his rest from a place that needs 
him not. 

In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets 

the hour 
Of human strength and action, man's courage 

and his power. 
I muse while still the woodthrush sings down 

the golden day. 
And as I look down and listen the sadness 

wears away. 

Again the hinges turn, and a youth, depart- 
ing, throws 

A look of longing backward, and sorrowfxi!~ 
ly goes ; 

A blooming maid, unbinding the roses troni 
her hair. 

Moves mournfully away from amidst the 
young and fair. 



THE END OF THE PLAY. 



691 



Oh glory of our race that so suddenly decays ! 
Oh crimson flash of morning that darkens as 

we gaze ! 
Oh hreath of summer blossoms that on the 

restless air 
Scatters a moment's sweetness and flies, we 

know not where ! 

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown 
and then withdrawn ; 

But still the sun shines round me; the even- 
ing bird sings on. 

And I again am soothed, and, beside the an- 
cient gate, 

In this soft evening sunhght, I calmly stand 
and wait. 

Once more the gates are opened ; an infant 
group go out. 

The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled 
the sprightly shout. • 

Oh frail, frail tree of life, that upon the green- 
sward strows 

Its fair young buds unopened, with every 
wind that blows ! 

So come from every region, so enter, side by 

side. 
The strong and fiiint of s[)irit, the meek and 

men of pride. 
Steps of earth's great and mighty, between 

those pillars gray. 
And prints of little feet, mark the dust along 

the way. 

And some approach the threshold whose looks 

are blank with fear, 
And some whose temples brighten vnth joy 

in drawing near, 
As if they saw dear faces, and caught the 

gracious eye 
Of him, the sinless teacher, who came for us 

to die. 

I mark the joy, the terror ; yet these, within 

my heart. 
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing 

to depart ; 
And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet 

wood and lea, 

I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn 

for me. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



THE END OF THE PLAY. 

The play is done — the curtain drops. 

Slow falling to the prompter's bell ; 
A moment yet the actor stops. 

And looks around, to say farewell. 
It is an irksome word and task ; 

And, when he 's laughed and said his say 
He shows, as he removes the mask, 

A face that 's any thing but gay. 

One word, ere yet the evening ends — 

Let 's close it with a parting rhyme ; 
And pledge a hand to all young friends, 

As fits the merry Christmas time ; 
On life's wide scene you, too, have partff, 

That fate ere long shall bid you play ; 
Good-night ! — with honest gentle hearts 

A kindly greeting go alway ! 

Good-night! — I'd say the griefs, the joye, 

Just hinted in this mimic page, 
The triumphs and defeats of boys. 

Are but repeated in our age ; 
I 'd say your woes were not less keen, 

Your hopes more vain, than those of men 
Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen 

At forty-five played o'er again. 

I 'd say we suffer and we strive 

Not less nor more as men than boys — 
With grizzled beards at forty-five, 

As erst at twelve in corduroys ; 
And if, in time of sacred youth. 

We learned at home to love and pray, 
Pray heaven that early love and truth 

May never wholly pass away. 

And in the world, as in the school, 

I 'd say how fate may change and shift — 
The prize be sometimes with the fool, 

The race not always to the swift ; 
The strong may yield, the good may fall, 

Tlie great man be a vulgar clown, 
The knave be lifted over all, 

The kind cast pitilessly down. 

Who knows the inscrutable design? 

Blessed be He who took and gave ! 
Why should your mother, Charles, not mino, 

Be weeping at her darling's grave? 



592 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



We bow to heaven that willed it so, 
That darkly rules the fate of aU, 

That sends the respite or the blow, 
That 's free to give or to recall. 

This crowns his feast with wine and wit — 

Who brought him to that mirth and state 1 
His betters, see, below him sit. 

Or hunger hopeless at the gate. 
Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel 

To spurn the rags of Lazarus? 
Come, brother, in that dust we 'U kneel. 

Confessing heaven that ruled it thus. 

So each shall mourn, in life's advance. 

Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed — 
Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance. 

And longing passion unfulfilled. 
Amen ! — whatever fate be sent, 

Pray God the heart may kindly glow, 
Although the head with cares be bent. 

And whitened with the winter snow. 

Come wealth or want, come good or ill, 
Let young and old accept their part. 

And bow before the awful will, 
And bear it with an honest heart. 

Who misses, or who wins the prize- 
Go, lose or conquer as you can ; 

But if you fail, or if you rise. 
Be each, pray God, a gentleman. 

A gentleman, or old or young ! 

(Bear kindly with my humble lays ;) 
The sacred chorus first was sung 

Upon the first of Christmas days • 
The shepherds heard it overhead — 

The joyful angels raised it then : 
Glory to heaven on high, it said, 

And peace on earth to gentle men ! 

My song, save this, is little worth ; 

I lay the weary pen aside, 
And wish you health, and love, and mirth. 

As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. 
As fits the holy Christmas birth, 

Be this, good friends, our carol still — 
Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, 

To men of gentle will. 

William Makepeace Thaokeray. 



TIME'S CUEE. 

MorEN, O rejoicing heart! 

The hours are flying; 
Each one some treasure takes, 
Each one some blossom breaks, 

And leaves it dying ; 
The chin, dark night draws near- 
The sun will soon depart. 

And leave thee sighing, 
Then mourn, rejoicing heaii; I 

The hour s are flying ! 



Eejoice, grieving heart I 

The hours fly fast — 
With each some sorrow dies, 
With each some shadow flies ; 

Until at last 
The red dawn in the east 
Bids weary night depart, 

And pain is past ; 
Rejoice then grieving heart! 

The hours fly fast ! 

ANONTMOira 



1 



A PETITION TO TIME. 

TorcH us gently, time ! 

Let us glide adown thy stream 
Gently — as we sometimes glide 

Through a quiet dream. 
Humble voyagers are we, 
Husband, wife, and children three- 
(One is lost — an angel, fled 
To the azure overhead!) 



Touch us gently, time ! 

We've not proud nor soaring wingfc , 
Our ambition, our content. 

Lies in simple things. 
Humble voyagers are we. 
O'er life's dim, unsounded sea. 
Seeking only some calm clime ; — 
Touch us gently, gentle time ! 

Baeby Coenwai.l 



I 



THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. 



Time is a feathered thing, 

And whilst I praise 

The sparklings of thy looks, and call them 

rays, 
Takes wing — 

Leaving hehind him, as he flies, 
An nnperceived dimness in thine eyes. 

His minutes, whilst they are told, 
Do make as old; 
And every sand of his fleet glass, 
Increasing age as it doth pass, 
Insensibly sows wrinkles here. 
Where flowers and roses did appear. 

Whilst we do speak, our fire 
Doth into ice expire ; 
Flames tm-n to frost ; 
And ere we can 

Know how our crow turns swan, 
Or how a silver snow 
Springs there where jet did grow. 
Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. 

Anonymous. 



THERE ARE GAINS FOR ALL OUR 
LOSSES. 

There are gains for all our losses — 
There are balms for all our pain ; 
But when youth, the dream, departs, 
It takes something from our hearts, 
And it never comes again. 

We are stronger and are better, 

Under manhood's sterner reign ; 
Still we feel that something sweet 
Followed youth, with flying feet, 
And will never come again. 

Something beautiful has vanished, 
And we sigh for it in vain ; 

We behold it everywhere, 

On the earth, and in the air. 
Bat it never comes again. 

RiCHAED IIbNBT StODDAKD. 



SONNET. 

Sad is our youth, for it is ever going. 
Crumbling away beneath our very feet ; 
Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing 
In current unperceived, because so fleet ; 
Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in 

sowing — 
But tares, self-sown, have overtopped the 

wheat ; 
Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in 

blowing — 
And still, oh still, their dying breath is sweet ; 
And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft 

us 
Of that which made our childhood sweeter 

stni; 
And sweet is middle life, for it hath left us 
A nearer good to cure an older ill ; 
And sweet are all things, when we learn to 

prize them 
Not for their sake, but His who grants them 

or denies them ! 

Aubrey de Yere. 



THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. 

I SAID to sorrow's awful storm. 

That beat against my breast, 
Rage on ! — thou may'st destroy this form, 

And lay it low at rest ; 
But still the spirit that now brooks 

Thy tempest, raging high, 
Undaunted on its fury looks, 

With steadfast eye. 

I said to penury's meagre train. 

Come on ! your threats I brave ; 
My last poor hfe-drop you may drain, 

And crush me to the grave ; 
Yet still the spirit that endures 

Shall mock your force the while, 
And meet each cold, cold grasp of youre 

With bitter smile. 

I said to cold neglect and, scorn, 

Pass on I I heed you not ; 
Ye may pursue me till my form 

And being are forgot ; 



894 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Yet still tlie spirit wMch jon see 

Undaunted by your wiles. 
Draws from its own nobility 

Its high-born smiles. 

I said to friendship's menaced blow, 

Strike deep ! ray heart shall ^ear ; 
Thou canst but add one bitter woe 

To those already there ; 
Yet still the spirit that sustains 

This last severe distress, 
Shall smile upon its keenest pains, 

And scorn redress. 

I said to death's uplifted dart, 

Aim sure ! oh, why delay ? 
Thou wilt not find a fearful hearts — 

A weak, reluctant prey ; ll 

For still the spirit, firm and free, '^ 

Unruffled by this last dismay. 

Wrapt in its own eternity, 

Shall pass away. 

Lavinia Stoddaba . 



MUTABILITY. 

The flower that smiles to-day 

To-morrow dies ; 
All that we wish to stay 

Tempts, and then flies ; 
What is this world's delight? 
Lightning that mocks the night. 
Brief even as bright. 

Virtue, how frail it is! 

Friendship too rare ! 
Love, how it sells poor bliss 

For proud despair ! 
But we, though soon they fall, 
Survive their joy, and aU 
Which ours we call. 

Whilst skies are blue and bright. 
Whilst flowers are gay. 

Whilst eyes that change ere night 
Make glad the day. 

Whilst yet the calm hours creep. 

Dream thou ! and from thy sleep 

Then T?ake to weep. 

Peecy Bysshe Shelley. 



STANZAS. 

My life is like the summer rose 

That opens to the morning sky, 
But, ere the shades of evening close, 

Is scattered on the ground — to die 1 
ITet on the rose's humble bed 
The sweetest dews of night are shed. 
As if she wept the waste to see- 
But none shall weep a tear for me t 



r^J 



My life is like the autumn leaf 

That trembles in the moon's pale ray 
Its hold is frail — its date is brief, 

Eestless — and soon to pass away I 
Yet, ere that leaf shall faU and fade, 
The parent tree will mourn its shade. 
The winds bewail the leafless tree — 
But none shall breathe a sigh for me ! 

My life is like the prints which feet 

Have left on Tampa's desert strand ; 
Soon as the rising tide shall beat, 

All trace will vanish from me i-and ] 
Y"et, as if grieving to efface 
All vestige of the human race, 
On that lone shore loud moans the sea-- 
But none, alas! shall mourn for me! 

EiCH^fiD Henky Wtldh, 



NO MORE. 

My wind has turned to bitter north, 

That was so soft a south before ; 
My sky, that shone so sunny bright, 

With foggy gloom is clouded o'er ; 
My gay green leaves are yellow-black 

Upon the dank autumnal floor; 
For love, departed once, comes back 

No more again, no more. 

A roofless ruin fies my home. 

For winds to blow and rains to pour ; 
One frosty night befell — and lo ! 

I find my summer days are o'er. 
The heart bereaved, of vfhy and how 

Unknowing, knows that yet before 
It had what e'en to memory now 

Returns no more, no more. 

Aethur Hugh Clottoh 



ODE TO DUTY. 



695 



Oh say not that my heart is cold 

To aught that once could warm it — 
Til at nature's form, so dear of old, 

'Ho more has power to charm it; 
Or that the ungenerous world can chill 

One glow of fond emotion 
For those who made it dearer still, 

And shared my wild devotion. 

Still oft those solemn scenes I view 

III rapt and dreamy sadness — 
Oft look on those who loved them too, 

With fancy's idle gladness ; 
Again I longed to view the light 

In nature's features glowing, 
Again to tread the mountain's height, 

And taste the soul's o'erflowing. 

Stern duty rose, and, frowning, flung 

His leaden chain around me ; 
With iron look and sullen tongue 

He muttered ag he bound me : 
"The mountain breeze, the boundless 
heaven. 

Unfit for toil the creature ; 
These for the free alone are given — 

But what have slaves with nature ? " 
Charles Wolfe. 



ODE TO DUTY. 

Stern daughter of the voice of God ! 
O duty ! if that name thou love 
Who art a light to guide, a rod 
To check the erring, and reprove — 
lliou, who art victory and law 
Wlien empty terrors overawe ; 
From vain temptations dost set free. 
And calm'st the weary strife of frail hu- 
manity I 

There are who ask not if thine eye 
Be on them ; who, in love and truth. 
Where no misgiving is, rely 
Upon the genial sense of youth : 
Glad hearts I without reproach or blot, 
Who do thy work, and know it not; 



Long may the kindly impulse last ! 
But thou, if they should totter, teach them 
to stand fast ! 

Serene will be our days and bright, 
And happy will our nature be, 
When love is an unerring light. 
And joy its own security. 
And they a blissful course may hold 
Even now, who, not unwisely bold. 
Live in the spirit of this creed ; 
Yet find that other strength, according to 
their need. 

I, loving freedom, and untried, 
1^0 sport of every random gust, 
Y'et being to myself a guide. 
Too bhndly have reposed my trust ; 
And oft, when in my heart was heard 
Thy timely mandate, I deferred 
The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
But thee I now would serve more strictly, 
if I may. 

Through no disturbance of my sonl, 

Or strong compunction in me wrought, 

I supplicate for thy control. 

But in the quietness of tbought ; 

Me this unchartered freedom tires ; 

I feel the weight of chance desires. 

My hopes no more must change their name, 

I long for a repose that ever is the same. 

Stern lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead's most benignant grace ; 
Kor know we any thing so fair 
As is the smile upon thy face ; 
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, 
And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
Thou dost preserve tlie stars from wrong; 
And the most ancient heavens, through 
thee, are fresh and strong. 

To humbler functions, awful power 1 
I call thee : I myself commend 
Unto thy guidance from this hour; 
Oh, let my weakness have an end I 
Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
The confidence of reason give ; 
And in the light of truth thy bondman lo^ 
me live I 

William "Wobdj^worti^ 



696 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



^HY THUS LONGING. 

^HY thus longing, thus for ever sighing, 
For the far-off, unattained and dim, 

^hile the beautiful, all round thee lying, 
Offers up its low, perpetual hymn ? 

VYouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching. 
All thy restless yearnings it would still ; 

Leaf and flower and. laden bee are preaching 
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to 
fill. 

Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee 
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw — 

[f no silken cord of love hath bound thee 
To some little world through weal and woe ; 

[f no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten — 
No fond voices answer to thine own ; 

If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten, 
By daily sympathy and gentle tone. 

N'ot by deeds that win the crowd's applauses. 
Not by works that give thee world-renown, 

Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses, 
Canst thou win and wear the immortal 
crown. 

Daily struggling, though unloved and lonel}-, 
Every day a rich reward will give ; 

Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only. 
And truly loving, thou canst truly live. 

Dost thou revel in the rosy morning, 
When all nature hails the lord of light, 

And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning. 
Robes yon fragrant fields in radiance 
bright ? 

Other hands may grasp the field and forest. 
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine ; 

But with fervent love if thou adorcst, 
Thou art wealthier — all the world is thine. 

Yet ii through eai*th's wide domains thou 
rovest, 

S'ghing that they art not thine alone, 
Not tliose fair fields, but thyself thou lovest. 

And their beauty, and thy wealth are gone. 



Nature wears the color of the spirit ; 

Sweetly to her worshipper ylio sings; 
All the glow, the grace she doth inherit, 

Round her trusting child she fondly flings. 
Haeriet Winolow, 



LOSSES. 

IJpoN the w^hito sea-sand 

There sat a pilgrim band, 
Telling the losses that their lives had known : 

While evening waned away 

From breezy cliff and bay. 
And the strong tides went out with weai*y 
moan. 

One spake, with quivering lip, 

Of a fair freighted ship. 
With all his household to the deep gone down ; 

But one had wilder woe — 

For a fair face, long ago 
Lost in the darker depths of a great town. 

There were who mourned their youth 

With a most loving ruth, 
For its brave hopes and memories ever grosi: ; 

And one upon the west 

Turned an eye that would not rest, 
For fiu'-off hills whereon its joy had been. 

Some talked of vanished gold. 

Some of proud honors told, 
Some spake of friends that were their truL^t 
no more ; 

And one of a green grave 

Beside a foreign wave. 
That made him sit so lonely on the shore. 

But when their tales were done, 

There spake among them one, 
A stranger, seeming from all sorrow free : 

'' Sad losses have ye met, 

But mine is heavier yet ; 
For a believing heart hath gone from mo.'' 

''Alas! " these pilgrims said, 

"For the living and the dead— 
For fortune's cruelty, for love's sure cross, 

For the wrecks of land and sea ! 

But, however it came to thee, 
Thine, stranger, is life's last and heaviest los3.'* 

Franoeb Beown. 



SONNETS. 



697 



HUMAN FRAILTY. 

"Weak and irresolute is man ; 

The purpose of to-daj, ^ 
Woven with pains into his plan, 

To-morrow rends away. 

The bow well bent, and smart the spring, 

Vice seems already slain; 
But passion rudely snaps the string, 

And it revives again. 

Some foe to his upright intent 

Finds out his weaker part ; 
Virtue engages his assent, 

But pleasure wins his heart. 

'T is here the folly of the wise 
Through all his art we view ; 

And while his tongue the charge denies. 
His conscience owns it true. 

Bound on a voyage of awful length 

And dangers little known, 
A stranger to superior strength, 

Man vainly trusts his own. 

But oars alone can ne'er prevail 

To reach the distant coast ; 
The breath of heaven must swell the sail. 

Or all the toil is lost. 

William Cowper. 



THE GOOD GREAT MAN. 

Eow seldom, friend, a good great man in- 
herits 
Honor and wealth, with all his worth and 
pains ! 
It seems a story from the world of spirits 
^lien any man obtains that which he 
merits. 
Or any merits that which he obtains. 

For shame, my friend I renounce this idle 

strain ! 
What wouldst thou have a good great man 

obtain ? 



"Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain. 
Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain ? 
Goodness and greatness are not means, but 
ends. 

Hath he not always treasures, always fi-iends, 
The great good man ? Three treasures — love, 
and light. 
And calm thoughts, equable as infant's 
breath ; 
And three fast friends, more sure than day or 
night — 
Himself, his maker, and the angel death. 
Samuel Taylor Colerldgb. 



SONNETS. 

ON HIS BEING ARllIYED TO THE AGK OF 
TWENTY-THREE. 

How soon hath time, the subtle thief of 

youth. 
Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth 

year! 
My hasting days fly on with full career. 
But my late spring no bud or blossom 

showeth. 
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the 

truth, 
That I to manhood am arrived so near ; 
And inward ripeness doth much less appear 
That some more timely-happy spirits in- 

du'th. 
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow. 
It shall be still in strictest measure even 
To that same lot, however mean or high, 
Toward which time leads me, and the will 

of heaven : 
All is, if I have grace to use it so. 
As ever in my great task-master's eye. 



ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT. 

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, 

whose bones 
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains 

cold ! 
Even them who kept thy truth so pare of 

old. 



398 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



When all our fathers worshipped stocks 

and stones, 
Forget not ! in thy hook record their groans 
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient 

fold 
Slain hy the hloody Piemontese, that 

rolled 
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their 

moans 
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
To heaven. Their martyred blood and 

ashes sow 
O'er all th' Italian fields, where still doth 

sway 
The triple tyrant; that from these may 

grow 
A hundred fold, who, having learned thy 

way. 
Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 



ON HIS BLINDNESS. 

When I consider how my light is spent 
Ere half my days, in this dark world and 

wide. 
And that one talent which is death to 

hide 
Lodged with me useless, though my soul 

more bent 
To serve therewith my maker, and present 
My true account, lest he returning chide — 
"Doth God exact day -labor, light de- 
nied ? " 
I fondly ask ; but patience, to prevent 
That murmur, soon replies : " God doth not 

need 
Either man's work, or his own gifts ; who 

best 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best ; 

his state 
h kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed. 
And post o'er land and ocean without 

rest; 
They also serve who only stand and 

wait." 

John Milton. 



ROBIN HOOD. 

No ! those days are gone away, 
And their hours are old and gray, 
And their minutes buried all 
Under the dowu -trodden pall 
Of the leaves of many years ; 
Many times have winter's shears, 
Frozen north, and chilling east 
Sounded tempests to the feast 
Of the forest's whispering fleec^*s, 
Since men knew nor rent nor leases. 

1^0 ! the bugle sounds no more, 
And the twanging bow no moro ; 
Silent is the ivory shrill, 
Past the heath and up the hill ; 
There is no mid-forest laugh, 
Where lone Echo gives the half 
To some wight amazed to hear, 
Jesting, deep in forest drear. 

On the fairest time of June 
You may go, with sun or moon, 
Or the seven stars, to light you, 
Or the polar ray to right you; 
But you never may behold 
Little John, or Robin bold — 
INever one, of all the clan, 
Thrumming on an empty can 
Some old hunting ditty, while 
He doth his green way beguile 
To fair hostess merriment, 
Down beside the pasture Trent ; 
For he left the merry tale, 
Messenger for spicy ale. 

Gone the merry morris din ; 
Gone the song of Gamelyn ; 
Gone the tough-belted outlaw. 
Idling in the *green6 shawe "— 
All are gone away and past ! 
And if Robin should be cast 
Sudden from his tufted grave, 
And if Marian should have 
Once again her forest days, 
She would weep, and he would craze; 
He would swear — for all his oaks. 
Fallen beneath the dock-yard strokes. 



p 



THE WHITE ISLAND. 



699 



Have rotted on the briny seas ; 
She would weep that her wild bees 
Sang not to her — strange I that honey 
Can 't be got without hard money! 

So it is I yet let us sing 
Honor to the old bow-string I 
Honor to the bugle horn ! 
Honor to the woods unshorn ! 
Honor to the Lincoln green I 
Honor to the archer keen I 
Honor to tight little John, 
And the horse he rode upon I 
Honor to bold Robin Hood, 
Sleeping in the underwood I 
Honor to maid Marian, 
And to all the Sherwood clan ! 
Though their days have hurried by, 
Let us two a burden try. 

John Keatb. 



on ! THE PLEASANT DAYS OF OLD ! 

Oi/ ! the pleasant days of old, .which so often 

people praise ! 
True, they wanted all the luxuries that grace 

our modern days : 
Bare floors were strewed with rushes — the 

walls let in the cold ; 
Oh I how they must have shivered in those 

pleasant days of old ! 

Oh ! those ancient lords of old, how magnifi- 
cent they were I 

They threw down and imprisoned kings — to 
thwart them who might dare ? 

They ruled their serfs right sternly; they 
took from Jews their gold — 

Above both law and equity were those great 
lords of old I 

Ohl the gallant knights of old, for their 

valor so renowned I 
With sword and lance, and armor strong, 

tliey scoured the country round ; 
And whenever aught to tem[)t them they 

met by wood or wold, 
B;«' right of sword they seized the prize — 

those gallant knights of old I 



Ohl the gentle dames of old! who, quite 

free from fear or pain, 
Could gaze on joust and tournament, and see 

their champions slain ; 
They lived on good beefsteaks and ale, which 

made them strong and bold — 
Oh ! more like men than women were those 

gentle dames of old ! 

Oh I those mighty towers of old ! with their 
turrets, moat and keep, 

Their battlements and bastions, their dun- 
geons dark and deep. 

Full many a baron held his court within the 
castle hold ; 

And many a captive languished there, in 
those strong towers of old. 

Oh ! the troubadours of old I with their gen- 
tle minstrelsie 

Of hope and joy, or deep despair, whichever 
their lot might be — 

For years they served their ladye-love ere 
they their passions told— - 

Oh ! wondrous patience must have had those 
troubadours of old ! 

Oh ! those blessed times of old i with their 

chivalry and state ; 
I love to read their chronicles, which such 

brave deeds relate ; 
I love to sing their ancient rhymes, to hear 

their legends told — 
But, heaven be thanked ! I live not in those 

blessed times of old ! 

Frances Bkovit. 



THE WHITE ISLAND ; 

OR, PLACE OF THE BLEST. 

In this world, the isle of dreams, 
While we sit by sorrow's streams, 
Tears and terrors are our themes, 

Reciting-, 
But when once from hence we flie, 
More and more approaching nigh 
Unto yniiiig eternitie. 

Uniting 



700 



POEMS or SExNTIMENT AND REFLECTIOJS. 



In tliat whiter island, where 
Things are evermore sincere- 
Candor here and lustre there 

Delighting. 
There no monstrous fancies shall 
Out of hell an horror call. 
To create, or cause at all, 

Ajffrighting ; 
There in calm and cooling sleep 
We our eyes shall never steep. 
But eternal watch shall keep. 

Attending 
Pleasures, such as shall pursue 
Me immortahzed, and you— 
And fresh joys, as never to 

Have ending. 

EOBBRT HeEBICK. 



THE HAPPY YALLEY. 



It was a valley filled with sweetest sounds ; 

A languid music hai:inted everywhere — 
Like that with which a summer eve abounds, 
From rusthng corn, and song-birds calling 
clear 
Down sloping uplands, which some wood sur- 
rounds, 
With tinkling rills just heard, but not too 
near; 
And low of cattle on the distant plain, 
And peal of far-off bells — now caught, then 
lost again. 



II. 

It seemed like Eden's angel-peopled vale. 
So bright the sky, so soft the streams did 
flow; 
Such tones came riding on the musk-winged 
gale 
The very air seemed sleepily to blow ; 
And choicest flowers enamelled every dale, 
Flushed with the richest sunlight's rosy 
glow : 
It was a valley drowsy with delight — 
Such fragrance floated round, such beauty 
dimmed the sight. 



in. 

The golden-belted bees hummed ii the air ; 
The tall silk grasses bent and waved 
along ; 
The trees slept in the steeping sunbeam's 
glare ; 
The dreamy river chimed its undersong, 
And took its own free course without a 
care ; 
Amid the boughs did lute-tonged song- 
sters throDg, 
And the green valley throbbed beneath their 

lays. 
Which echo echo chased through many a 
leafy maze. 

IV. 

And shapes were there, like spirits of the 

flowers, 
Sent down to see the summer beauties 

dress. 
And feed their fragrant mouths with silver 

showers ; 
Their eyes peeped out from many a groeu 

recess, 
And their fair forms made light the thick-set 

bowers ; 
The very flowers seemed eager to caress 
Such living sisters; and the boughs, long- 
leaved. 
Clustered to catch the sighs their pearl-flushed 

bosoms heaved. 



One through her long loose hair was back- 
ward peeping. 
Or throwing, with raised arm, the locks 



Another high a pile of flowers was heaping. 
Or looking love-askance, and, when de- 
scried, 

Her coy glance on the bedded greens wai'd 
keeping ; 
She pulled the flowers to pieces, as she 
sighed — 

Then blushed, like timid daybreak, v\^hen the 
dawn 

Looks crimson on the night, and then again V 
withdrawn. 



I 



m 



ARRANMORE. 



701 



Due, with her warm and milk-white arms 
outspread, 
On tip-toe tripped along a sun-ht glade — 
^alf turned the matchless sculpture of her 
head, 
And half shook down her silken circling 
hraid. 
She seemed to float on air, so hght she sped ; 
Her back-blown scarf an arched rainbow 
made; 
She skimmed the wavy flowers, as she passed 

by, 

With fair and printless feet, like clouds along 
the sky. 

VII. 

One sat alone within a shady nook. 
With wild-wood songs the lazy hours be- 
guiling; 
Or looking at her shadow in the brook. 
Trying to frown — then at the eflbrt smil- 
ing; 
Her laughing eyes mocked every serious 
look; 
'T was as if Love stood at himself reviling, 
sJie threw in flowers, and watched them 

float away ; 
Then at her beauty looked, then sang a 
sweeter lay. 

VIII. 

Others on beds of roses lay reclined, 
The regal flowers athwart their full lips 
thrown, 
And in one fragrance both their sweets com- 
bined, 
As if they on the self-same stem had 
grown — 
So close were rose and lip together twined, 
A double flower that from one bud had 
blown ; 
Till none could tell, so sweetly were they 

blended. 
Where swelled the curving lip, or where the 
rose-bloom ended. 

IX. 

One, half asleep, crushing the twined flowers, 
Upon a velvet slope like Dian lay — 

Still as a lark that 'mid the daisies cowers ; 
Her looped-up tunic, tossed in disarray, 



Showed rounded limbs too fair for earthly 

bowers ; 
They looked hke roses on a cloudy day. 
The warm white d ailed amid the colder 

green — 
The flowers too rough a couch that lovely 

shape to screen. 



Some lay like Thetis' nymphs along the 
shore, 
With ocean-pearl combing their golden 
locks, 
And singing to the waves for evermore — 
Sinking, like flowers at eve, beside the 
rocks, 
If but a sound above the muffled roar 

Of the low waves was heard. In little 
flocks 
Others went trooping through the wooded 

alleys. 
Their kirtles glancing white, like streams in 
sunny valleys. 

XI. 

They were such forms as, imaged in the 
night, 
Sail in our dreams across the heaven's 
steep blue,. 
When the closed lid sees visions streaming 
bright. 
Too beautiful to meet the naked view — 
Like faces formed in clouds of silver light. 
Women they were! such as the angels 
knew — 
Such as the mammoth looked on ere he fled. 
Scared by the lovers' wings that streamed m 
sunset red. 

TnOMAB MiLLBB. 



ARRANMORE. 

Arranmore, loved Arranmore, 

How oft I dream of thee ! 
And of those days when by tliy shore 

I wandered young and free. 
Full many a path I 've tried since then, 

Through pleasure's flowery maze, 
But ne'er could find the bliss ngain 

I felt in those sweet days. 



702 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



How blithe upon the breezy cliffs 

xVt sunny morn IVe stood, 
With heart as bounding as the skiffs 

That danced along the flood ! 
Or when the western wave grew bright 

With daylight's parting wing, 
Have sought that Eden in its light 

Which dreaming poets sing — 

That Eden where th' immortal brave 

Dwell in a land serene — 
Whose bowers beyond the shining wave, 

At sunset, oft are seen ; 
Ah dream, too full of saddening truth ! 

Those mansions o'er the main 
Are like the hopes I built in youth — 

As sunny and as vain ! 

Thomas Mooee. 



HONEST POVERTY. 

Is there for honest poverty 

Wha hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward-slave, we pass him by ; 
We dare be poor for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp — 
The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine. 
Wear hodden grey, and a' that ; 
Gie fools tkeir silks, and knaves their wine — 
A man's a man for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinSel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 
Is king o' men for a' that 

You see yon birkie ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that — 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 
He 's but a coof for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

His riband, star, and a' that ; 
The man of independent mind, 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A princo can mak a belted knight, 
A marquis, duKe, and a' that ; 

But an honest man's aboon his might — 
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that! 



For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that ; 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are higher ranks than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may. 

As come it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth. 
May bear the gree, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It 's coming yet, for a' that — 

When man to man, the warld o'er. 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 

Egbert Bubnb. 



^' CONTEMPLATE ALL THIS WORK." 

Contemplate all this work of time, 
The giant laboring in his youth ; 
Nor dream of human love and truth 

As dying nature's earth and lime ; 

But trust that those we call the dead 
Are breathers of an ampler day 
For ever nobler ends. They say 

The solid earth v/hereon we tread 

In tracts of fluent heat began. 

And grew to seeming random forms, 
The seeming prey of cychc storms. 

Till at the last arose the man — 

Who throve and branched from clime to clime 
The herald of a higher race. 
And of himself in higher place, 

If so he types this work of time 

Within himself, from more to more ; 

And crowned with attributes of woe 
Like glories, move his course, and show 

That hfe is not an idle ore. 

But iron dug from central gloom. 

And heated hot with burning fears. 
And dipped in baths of hissing tears, 

And battered with the shocks of doom 

To shape and use. Arise and fly 

The reeling foun, the sensual feast ! 
Move upward, working out the beast, 

And let the ape and tiger die ! 

Alfeei) Tennyson. 



IF THAT WERE TRUE. 



708 



IS IT COME? 

Is it come ? they said, on the banks of the 
Mle, 
Who looked for the world's long-promised 
day, 
And saw but the strife of Egypt's toil, 

With the desert's sand and the granite gray. 
From the pyramid, temple, and treasured 
dead, 
We vainly ask for her wisdom's plan ; 
They tell us of the tyrant's dread — 
Yet there was hope when that day began. 

The Chaldee came, with his starry lore. 

And built up Babylon's crown and creed ; 
And bricks were stamped on the Tigris shore 

With signs which our sages scarce can read. 
From Ninus' temple, and Mmrod's tower, 

The rule of the old east's empire spread 
Unreasoning faith and unquestioned power — 

But still. Is it come ? the watcher said. 

The light of the Persian's worshipped flame. 

The ancient bondage its splendor threw ; 
And once, on the west a sunrise came, 

When Greece to her freedom's trust was 
true; 
With dreams to the utmost ages dear. 

With human gods, and with god-like men, 
No marvel the far-off day seemed near, 

To eyes that looked through her laurels then. 

The Romans conquered, and revelled too, 

Till honor, and faith, and power, were gone ; 
And deeper old Europe's darkness grew. 

As, wave after wave, the Goth came on. 
The gown was learning, the sword was law ; 

The people served in the oxen's stead ; 
But ever some gleam the watcher saw. 

And evermore, Is it come? tliey said. 

Poet and seer that question caught. 

Above the din of life's fears and frets ; 
ft marched with letters, it toiled with thought, 

Through schools and creeds which the 
earth forgets. 
And statesmen trifle, and priests deceive. 

And traders barter our world away — 
Yet hearts to that golden promise cleave. 

And still, at times, Is it come ? they say. 



The days of the nations bear no trace 

Of all the sunshine so far foretold ; 
The cannon speaks in the teacher's place — 

The age is weary with work and gold ; 
And high hopes wither, and memories wane, 

On hearths and altars the fires are dead ; 
But that brave faith hath not lived in vain— 

And this is all that our watchier said. 

Fka-xces Bkowk. 



IF THAT WERE TRUE ! 

'T IS long ago, — we have toiled and traded. 
Have lost and fretted, have gained and grieved, 
Since last the light of that fond faith faded ; 
But, friends — in its day — what we believed! 
The poets' dreams and the peasants' stories— 
Oh, never will time that trust renew ! 
Yet they were old on the earth before us. 
And lovely tales, — had they been true ! 

Some spake of homes in the greenwood hid 

den, 
Where age was fearless and youth was free- 
Where none at life's board seemed guestf 

unbidden. 
But men had years like the forest tree : 
Goodly and fair and full of summer. 
As lives went by when the world was new, 
Ere ever the angel steps passed from her, — 
Oh, dreamers and bards, if that were true! 

Some told us of a stainless standard — 
Of hearts that only in death grew cold. 
Whose march was ever in freedom's van 

guard, 
And not to be stayed by steel or gold. 
The world to their very graves was debtor— 
The tears of her love fell there like dew ; 
But there had been neither slave nor fetter 
This day in her realms, had that been true I 

Our hope grew strong as the giant-slayer. 
They told that life was an honest game, 
Where fortune favored the fairest player, 
And only the false found loss and bhime — 
That men were honored for gifts and gi'aces, 
And not for the prizes fully drew ; 
But there would be many a change of places, 
In hovel and hall, if that were true! 



704 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Some said to our silent souls, What fear ye ? 
And talked of a love not based on clay — 
Of faith that would neither wane nor weary, 
With all the dust of tlie pilgrim's day; 
They said that fortune and time were changers, 
But not by their tides such friendship grew ; 
Oh, we had never been trustless strangers 
Among our people, if that were true ! 

And yet since the fairy time hath perished, 
With all its freshness, from hills and hearts, 
The last of its love, so vainly cherished. 
Is not for these days of schools and marts. 
Up, up I for the heavens still circle o'er us ; 
There 's wealth to win and there 's work to do, 
There 's a sky above, and a grave before us — 
And, brothers, beyond them all is true ! 

Feances Brown. 



THE WORLD. 

'T 18 all a great show, 

The world that we're in — 
None can tell when 't was finished, 

None saw it begin ; 
Men wander and gaze through 

Its courts and its halls. 
Like children whose love is 

The picture-hung walls. 

There are flowers in the meadow. 

There are clouds in the sky — 
Songs pour from the woodland. 

The waters glide by; 
Too many, too many 

For eye or for ear. 
The sights that we see. 

And the sounds that we hear. 

A weight as of slumber 

Comes down on the mind ; 
So swift is life's train 

To its objects we 're blind; 
I myself am but one 

In the fleet-gliding show — 
Like others I walk, 

But know not where I go. 

One saint to another 
I heard say " How long ? " 

I listened, but naught more 
I heard of his song ; 



The shadows are walking 
Through city and plain — 

How long shall the night 
And its shadow remain ? 

How long ere shall shine. 

In this glimmer of things, 
The liglit of which prophet 

In prophecy sings ? 
And the gates of that city 

Be open, whose sun 
No more to the west 

Its circuit shall run ! 

JONKfl VUBY. 



BE PATIENT. 

Be patient! oh, be patient I Put your eai 

against the earth ; 
Listen there how noiselessly the germ o' tho 

seed has birth — 
How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its 

little way. 
Till it parts the scarcely broken ground, and 

the blade stands up in the day. 

Be patient! oh, be patient! The germs of 

mighty thought 
Must have their silent undergrowth, must 

underground be wrought ; 
But as sure as there 's a power that makes 

the grass appear. 
Our land shall be green with liberty, the 

blade-time shall be here. 

Be patient ! oh, be patient ! — go and watcli 

the wheat ears grow — 
So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change 

nor throe — 
Day after day, day after day, till the ear is 

fully grown. 
And then again day after day, till the ripened 

field is brown. 

Be patient I oh, be patient ! — though yet oui 
hopes are green. 

The harvest fields of freedom shall be crown- 
ed with sunny sheen. 

Be ripening! be ripening!— mature your si- 
lent way. 

Till the whole broad land is tongued with 
fire on freedom's harvest day ! 

Anonymous. . 



I 



EACH AND ALL. 



70c 



THERE BE THOSE. 

There be those who sow beside 
The waters that in silence glide, 
Trusting no echo will declare 
Whose footsteps ever wandered there. 

The noiseless footsteps pass away, 
The stream flows on as yesterday ; 
Nor can it for a time be seen 
A benefactor there had been. 

Yet think not that the seed is dead 
Which in the lonely place is spread ; 
It lives, it lives — the spring is nigh. 
And soon its life shall testify. 

That silent stream, that desert ground, 
No more unlovely shall be found ; 
But scattered flowers of simplest grace 
Shall spread their beauty round the place. 

And soon or late a time will come 
When witnesses, that now are dumb. 
With grateful eloquence shall tell 
From whom the seed, there scattered, fell. 
Beenaed Baeton. 



EACH AND ALL. 

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked 

clown 
Of thee from the hill-top looking down ; 
The heifer that lows in the upland farm. 
Far- heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; 
The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, 
Deems not that great Napoleon 
Stops his horse, and lists with delight. 
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine 

height ; 
Nor knowest thou what argument 
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. 
All are needed by each one — 
Nothing is fair or good alone. 
93 



I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, 
Singing at dawn on the alder bough ; 
I brought him home, in his nest, at even. 
He sings the song, but it i)leases not now ; 
For I did not bring home the river and 

sky: 
He sang to my ear — they sang to my eye. 

The delicate shells lay on the shore ; 
The bubbles of the latest wave 
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave. 
And the bellowing of the savage sea 
Greeted their safe escape to me. 
I wiped away the weeds and foam — 
I fetched my sea-born treasures home ; 
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things 
Had left their beauty on the shore. 
With the sun, and the sand, and the wild up 
roar. 

The lover watched his graceful maid, 

As 'mid the virgin train she strayed ; 

Nor knew her beauty's best attire 

Was woven still by the snow-white choir. 

At last she came to his hermitage. 

Like the bird from the woodlands to tht 

cage; 
The gay enchantment was undone — 
A gentle wife, but fairy none. 

Then I said, "I covet truth; 

Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat — 

I leave it behind with the games of youth/' 

As I spoke, beneath my feet 

The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, 

Pwunning over the club-moss burrs ; 

I inhaled the violet's breath ; 

Around me stood the oaks and firs ; 

Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground: 

Over me soared the eternal sky, 

Full of light and of deity ; 

Again I saw, again I heard, 

The rolling river, the morning bird ; 

Beauty through my senses stole — 

I yielded myself to the perfect whole. 

Kalph Waldo E^csbbcn. 



706 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND KEFLECTION. 



THE LOST CHURCH. 

[n youder dim and pathless wood 

Strange sounds are heard at twilight hour, 
xlnd peals of solemn music swell 

As from some minster's lofty tower. 
From age to age those sounds are heard, 

Borne on the hreeze at twilight hour — 
From age to age no foot hath found 

A pathway to the minster's tower ! 

Late, wandering in that ancient Avood, 

As onward through the gloom I trod, 
From all the woes and wrongs of earth 

My soul ascended to its God. 
When lo ! in the hushed wilderness 

I heard, far off, that solemn bell : 
Still, heavenward as my spirit soared, 

"Wilder and sweeter rang the knell. 

While thus in holy musings wrapt, 

My mind from outward sense withdrawn. 
Some power had caught me from the earth, 

And far into the heavens upborne. 
Methought a hundred years had passed 

In mystic visions as I lay — 
^hen suddenly the parting clouds 

Seemed opening wide, and far away. 

N"o midday sun its glory shed, 

The stars were shrouded from my sight ; 
And lo ! majestic o'er my head, 

A minster shone in solemn light. 
High through the lurid heavens it seemed 

Aloft on cloudy wings to rise, 
Pill all its pointed turrets gleamed, 

Far flaming, through the vaulted skies ! 

The bell with full resounding peal 

Rang booming through the rocking tower ; 
N'o hand had stirred its iron tongue. 

Slow swaying to the storm-wind's power. 
My bosom beating like a bark 

Dashed by the surging ocean's foam, 
[ trod with faltering, fearful joy 

Tlie mazes of the mighty dome. 

A sorb light through the oriel streamed 
Like summer moonlight's golden gloom, 

Far through the dusky arches gleamed, 
And filled with glory all the room. 



Pale sculptures of the sainted dead 
Seemed waking from their icy thrall ; 

And many a glory-circled head 
Smiled sadly from the storied wall 

Low at the altar's foot I knelt, 

Transfixed with awe, and dumb with dread 
For, blazoned on the vaulted roof. 

Were heaven's fiercest glories spread. 
Yet when I raised my eyes once more. 

The vaulted roof itself was gone — 
Wide open was heaven's lofty door. 

And every cloudy veil withdrawn ! 

What visions burst upon my soul. 

What joys unutterable there 
In waves on waves for ever roll 

Like music through the pulseless air — 
These never mortal tongue may tell : 

Let him who fain would prove their powci 
Pause when he hears that solemn knell 

Float on the breeze at twilight hour. 

LuDwiG Uhland. (Germpj.i\ 
Paraphrase of Saeah Helen Wiiitman. 



THE GARDEN" OF LOVE. 

I WEXT to the garden of love, 
And saw what I never had seen ; 
A chapel was built in the midst. 
Where I used to play on the green. 

And the gate of this chapel was shut, 
And " thou shalt not " writ over the door ; 
So I turned to the garden of love, 
That so many sweet flowers bore. 

And I saw it was filled with graves, 

And tomb-stones where flowers should be; 

And priests in black gowns were walkinc 

their rounds. 
And binding with briars my joys and do- 

sires. 

WlLLIAH BlAKU 



THE COTTER^S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



707 



THE PROBLEM. 

I LIKE a cliurcli ; I like a cowl — 
T love a prophet of the soul ; 
And on my heart monastic aisles 
Fall like sweet strains, or pensive smiles ; 
Yet not for all his faith can see, 
Would I that cowled churchman be. 
Why should the vest on him allure 
Which I could not on me endure ? 

i^ot from a vain or shallow thought 

His awful Jove young Phidias brought ; 

N'ever from lips of cunning fell 

The thrilling Delphic oracle ; 

Out from the heart of nature rolled 

The burdens of the bible old ; 

The litanies of nations came, 

Like the volcano's tongue of flame, 

Up from the burning core below — 

The canticles of love and woe ; 

The hand that rounded Peter's dome, 

And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, 

Wrought in a sad sincerity ; 

Himself from God he could not free ; 

He builded better than he knew — 

The conscious stone to beauty grew. 

Know'st thou what wove yon woodbird's 

nest 
Of leaves, and feathers from her breast ? 
Or how the fish outbuilt her shell. 
Painting with morn each annual cell ? 
Or how the sacred pine-tree adds 
To her old leaves new myriads ? 
Such and so grew these holy piles, 
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. 
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon, 
As the best gem upon her zone ; 
And morning opes with haste her lids 
To gaze upon the pyramids ; 
O'er England's abbeys bends the sky. 
As on its friends, with kindred eye : 
For out of thought's interior sphere 
These wonders rose to upper air ; 
And nature gladly gave them place, 
Adopted them into her race, 
And granted them an equal date 
With Andes and with Ararat. 



These temples grew as grows the grass — 
Art might obey, but not surpass. 
The passive master lent his hand 
To the vast soul that o'er him planned ; 
And the same power that reared the shrine 
Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. 
Ever the fiery Pentecost 
Girds with one flame the countless host, 
Trances the heart through chanting choirs 
And through the priest the mind inspires. 
The word unto the prophet spoken 
Was w^rit on tables yet unbroken ; 
The word by seers or sibyls told, 
In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, 
Still floats upon the morning wind. 
Still wdiispers to the willing mind. 
One accent of the Holy Ghost 
The heedless world hath never lost. 
I know w^hat say the fathers wise — 
The book itself before me lies — 
Old Chrysostom, best Augustine, 
And he who blent both in his line, 
The younger golden lips or mines- 
Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines ; 
His words are music in my ear — 
I see liis cowled portrait dear ; 
And yet, for all his faith could see, 
I would not the good bishop be. 

Kalph Waldo Emerson. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY KIGHT. 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

Gb AY. 

My loved, my honored, much - respected 
friend ! 
ISTo mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end, 
My dearest meed a friend's esteem and 
praise. 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 

The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless 
ways — 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been 
Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happie? 
there, I ween. 



708 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND KEFLECTION. 



N"ovember chill blaws loud wi' angry sugli ; 
The short'ning winter day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the plengh, 
The black'ning trains o' craws to their re- 
pose. 
The toil-worn cotter frae his labor goes — 

This night his weekly moil is at an end — 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his 
hoes, 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend ; 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does 
hameward bend. 

At length Ms lonely cot appears in view. 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee things, todlin, stacher thro' 
To meet their dad wi' flichterin noise and 
glee. 
His wee bit ingle blinkin' bonnilie, 
His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's 
smile. 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, ' 
Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile. 
An' makes him quite forget his labor and 
his toil. 

Belyve the elder bairns come drappin' in — 
At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie 
rin 
A cannie errand to a neebor town. 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown. 
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her 
ee, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new 
gown. 
Or deposite her sair-won penny fee. 
To help her parents dear, if they in hard- 
ship be. 

Wi' joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers ; 
The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed 
fleet ; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years — 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel 's the 
new; 

The father mixes a' wi' admonition due : 



Their masters' and their mistresses' com 
mand 

The younkers a' are warned to obey. 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play 
An' oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night I 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. 

Implore his counsel and assisting might : 

They never sought in vain that sought the 
Lord aright ! 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's ee, and flush her cheek ; 
Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his 
name. 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 

Weel pleased the mother hears it 's nae 
wild, worthless rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben— 
A strappan youth, he taks the mother's 
eye; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit 's no ill ta'en ; 
The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and 
kye; 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 
But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel be- 
have; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae 

grave — 
Weel pleased to think her bairn 's respected 
like the lave. 

happy love ! where love like this is found ! 
heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond com 

pare ! 

1 've paced much this weary mortal round. 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure 
spare. 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair. 
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale» 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scente 
the evening gale. 



M 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



•709 



Is there, in human form that bears a heart, 

A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth. 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling 
smooth ! 
Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled ? 
lb there no pity, no relenting ruth, 
Points to the parents fondling o'er their 

child- 
Then paints the ruined maid, and their dis- 
traction wild ? 



But now the supper crowns their simple 
board : 
The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's 
food; 
The soup their only hawkie does afford, 
That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her 
cud ; 
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, 
To grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck 
fell, 
An' aft he 's pressed, and aft he ca's it good ; 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell 
How 't was a towmond auld, sin' lint was 
i' the bell. 

Tlie cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace. 

The big lia'-bible, ance his father's pride : 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 

His lyart haffets wearin' thin and bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion 
glide 

He wales a portion with judicious care ; 

And ''Let us worship God ! " he says with 
solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest 

aim ; 

i'crhaps Dundee's wild, warbling measures 

rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy o' the name ; 

Or noble Elgin beets the heavenward flame — 

The sweetest far o' Scotia's holy lays ; 
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 



The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures 

raise — 
ITae unison hae they with our Creator'? 

praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page : 
How Abraham was the friend of God on 
high; 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of heaven's avenging 
ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred 
lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme : 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was 
shed ; 
How he, who bore in heaven the second 
name, 
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head \ 
How his first followers and servants sped — 
The precepts sage they wrote to many a 
land ; 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced 
by heaven's command. 

Then kneeling down to heaven's eternal king. 
The saint, the father, and the husband 
prays : 

Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing " 
That thus they all shall meet in future days ; 

There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear — 

Together hymning their creator's praise, 
In such society, yet still more dear, 
While circling time moves round in an 
eternal sphere. 

Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, 
In all the pomp of method and of art, 

When men display to congregations wide 
Devotion's every grace except the heart ! 

The power, incensed, the pageant will desert, 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 

But haply, in some cottage far apart, 



no 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



May hear, well pleased, the language of the 

soul. 
And in his book of life the inmates poor 

enroll. 

Then homeward all take off tlieir several way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to heaven the warm re- 
quest 
TJiat he who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 
Would, in the way his wisdom sees tlie best, 

For them and for their little ones provide — 

But chiefly in their hearts with grace di- 
vine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur 
springs. 
That makes her loved at home, revered 
abroad. 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kin'gs — 
"An honest man's the noblest Avork of 
God : " 
And, certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, 
The cottage leaves the palace far behind. 
What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load. 
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness re- 
fined ! 

Scotia ! my dear, my native soil I 
For whom my warmest wish to heaven is 
sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet 
content ! 
And, oh ! may heaven their simple lives pre- 
vent 
From luxury's contagion weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while. 
And stand a wall of fire around their much- 
loved isle. 

O thou ! who poured the patriotic tide 
That streamed through W^allace's undaunted 
heart — 

Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, Ino second glorious part — 



(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art — 
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !^ 

Oh never, never Scotia s realm desert ; 
But still the patriot and the patriot bard 
In bright succession raise, her ornamcni 
and guard ! 

Robert BuRKtt 



HALLOWED GROUND. 

What 's hallowed ground ? Has earth a clod 
Its maker meant not should be trod 
By man, the image of his God 

Erect and free, 
Unscourged by superstition's rod 

To bow the knee ? 

That 's hallowed ground where, mourned and 

missed. 
The lips repose our love has kissed:— 
But where 's their memory'^s mansion ? Is 't 

Yon churchyard 's bowers ? 
N'o ! in ourselves their souls exist, 

A part of ours. 

A kiss can consecrate the ground 
Where mated hearts are mutual bound ; 
The spot where love's first links were wound 

That ne'er are riven. 
Is hallowed, down to earth's profound, 

And up to heaven ! 

For time makes all but true love old ; 
The burning thoughts that then were told 
Run molten still in memory's mould ; 

And will not cool 
Until the heart itself be cold 

In Lethe's pool. 

W^hat hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
'T is not the sculptured piles you heap I~ 
In dews that heavens far distant ween 

Their turf may bloom, 
Or genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb. 

But strew his ashes to the wind 

Whose sword or voice has served mankind-* 



THE HAPPY LIFE. 



711 



And is he dead whose glorious mind 

Lifts tliinc on high ? — 
To live in hearts we leave behind 

Is not to die. 

Fs't death to fall for freedom's right? 
He's dead alone that lacks her light! 
And murder sullies in heaven's sight 

The sword he draws : — 
Wliat can alone ennoble fight? 

A noble cause ! 

Give that! and welcome war to brace 

Her drums, and rend lieaven's reeking space ! 

The colors planted face to face, 

The charging cheer, 
Though death 's pale horse lead on the chase. 

Shall still be dear. 

And place our trophies where men kneel 
To heaven ! — But heaven rebukes my zeal. 
The cause of truth and human weal, 

God above ! 
Transfer it from the sword's appeal 

To peace and love. 

Peace ! love ! — the cherubim that join 
Their spread wings o'er devotion's shrine ! 
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine, 

Where they are not ; 
The heart alone can make divine 

Religion's spot. 

To incantations dost thou trust. 
And pompous rites in domes august ? 
See mouldering stones and metal's rust 

Belie the vaunt, 
That men can bless one pile of dust 

With chime or chaunt. 

The ticking wood- worm mocks thee, man I 
TJiy temples — creeds themselves grow wan I 
But there's a dome of nobler span, 

A temple given 
Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban — 

Its space is heaven I 

;is roof star-pictured nature's ceiling, 
Wliore, trancing the rapt spirit's feeling. 
And God himself to man revealing. 

The harmonious spheres 
Made music, tliough unheard their pealing 

By mortal ears. 



Fair stars I are not your beings pure ? 
Can sin, can death, your worlds obscure ? 
Else why so swell the thoughts at your 

Aspect above ? 
Ye^must be heavens that make us suro 

Of heavenly love ! 

And in your harmony sublime 
I read the doom of distant time : 
That man's regenerate soul from crime 

Shall yet be drawn. 
And reason, on his mortal clime, 

Immortal dawn. 

What's hallowed ground? 'T is what j<i vet 

birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! — 
Peace ! indei)endence 1 truth ! go forth, 

Earth's compass round; 
And your high priesthood shall make earth 
All hallowed ground ! 

TnoMAS Campdell. 



THE HAPPY LIFE. 

How happy is he born and taught 
That serveth not another's will — 
Whose armor is his honest thought, 
And simple truth liis utmost skill ! 

AVhose passions not his masters are, 
AVliose soul is still prepared for death - 
Untied unto the worldly care 
Of public fame or private breath ! 

Who envies none that chance doth raisi , 
Or vice ; who never understood 
How deepest wounds are given by praise 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

AVho hath his life from humors freed, 
Whose conscience is his stroug retreat ; 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
Nor ruin make accusers great ; 

AYho God doth late and early i)rav 
More of his grace than gifts to lend ; 
And entertains the harndess day 
With a well-chosen book or friend : 



712 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall — 
Lord of himself, though not of lands ; 
And, having nothing, yet hath all. 

Sir Henry TVotton. 



MAN. 



My God, I heard this day 
That none doth bnild a stately habitation 
But he that means to dwell therein. 
What house more stately hath there been, 
Or can be, than is man, to whose creation 
All things are in decay ? 

For man is every thing. 

And more : he is a tree, yet bears no fruit ; 

A beast, yet is, or should be, more — 

Keason and speech we only bring. 

Parrots may thank us, if they are not mute — 

They go upon the score. 

Man is all symmetric — 
Full of proportions, one limb to another, 
And all to all the world besides. 
Each part may call the farthest brother ; 
For head with foot hath private amitie, 

And both with moons and tides. 

Nothing hath got so farre 
But man hath caught and kept it as his prey. 
His eyes dismount the highest starre ; 
He is in little all the sphere. 
Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they 
Finde their acquaintance there. 

For us the winds do blow, 
The earth doth rest, heaven move, and foun- 
tains flow. 
Nothing we see but means our good. 
As our delight, or as our treasure ; 
The whole is either our cupboard of food 
Or cabinet of pleasure. 

The starres have us to bed — 
^iglit draws the curtain, which the sunne 
withdraws. 
Musick and light attend our head ; 
All things unto our flesh are kinde 
In tlieir descent and being — to our minde 
In their ascent and cause. 



Each thing is full of dutie : 
Waters united are our navigation — 
Distinguished, our habitation ; 
Below, our drink — above, our meat; 
Both are our cleanlinesse. Hath one such 
beautie ? 

Then how are all things neai ! 

More servants wait on man 
Than he '11 take notice of. In every path 
He treads down that which doth befriend 

him 
When sicknesse makes him pale and wan. 
mightie love ! Man is one world, and hath 
Another to attend him; 

Since then, my God, thou hast 
So brave a palace built, oh dwell in it. 
That it may dwell with thee at last! 
Till then aflbrd us so much wit 
That, as the world serves us, we may serve 
thee, 
And both thy servants be. 

George Ueebkri^ 



HEAVENLY WISDOM. 

Oh happy is the man who hears 
Instruction's warning voice, 

And who celestial wisdom makes 
His early, only choice ; 

For she has treasures greater far 

Than east or west unfold, 
And her reward is more secure 

Than is the gain of gold. 

In her right hand she holds to view 

A length of happy years ; 
And in her left the prize of fame 

And honor bright appears. 

She guides the young, with innoceroe. 
In pleasure's path to tread ; 

A crown of glory she bestows 
Upon the hoary head. 



* 



OD"E. 



713 



According as her labors rise, 

So her rewards increase ; 
Her ways are ways of pleasantness, 

And all her paths are peace. 

John Looan. 



SEED-TIME AKD HAEYEST. 

As o'er his furrowed fields, which lie 
Beneath a coldly-dropping sky. 
Yet chill with winter's melted snow, 
The hnsbandman goes forth to sow : 

Thus, freedom, on the bitter blast 
The ventures of thy seed we cast. 
And trust to warmer sun and rain 
To swell the germ, and fill the grain. 

Who calls thy glorious service hard ? 
Who deems it not its own reward ? 
AVho, for its trials, counts it less 
A cause of praise and thankfulness ? 

It may not be our lot to wield 
The sickle in the ripened field ; 
Nor ours to hear, on summer eves. 
The reaper's song among the sheaves ; 

Yet where our duty's task is wrought 
In unison with God's great thought, 
The near and future blend in one. 
And whatsoe'er is willed is done ! 

And ours the grateful service whence 
Comes, day by day, the recompense — 
The hope, the trust, the purpose staid. 
The fountain, and the noonday shade. 

And were this life the utmost span, 
The only end and aim of man, 
Better the toil of fields like these 
Than waking dream and slothful ease. 

Our life, though falling like our grain, 
Like that revives and springs again ; 
And early called, how blest are they 
Who wait in heaven their harvest-day ! 
John QEEBNLEiP Whittier. 



ODE. 

INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FEOM EEOOI/- 
LEOTIONS OF EAELY CHILDHOOD. 



There was a time when meadow, grove, and 

stream, 
The earth, and every common sight. 
To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light — 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore : 
Turn wheresoe'er I may. 
By night or day. 
The things which I have seen, I now can see 
no more. 



The rainbow comes and goes, 
And lovely is the rose ; 
The moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 
Waters on a starry night 
Are beautiful and fair ; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go. 
That there hath passed away a glory from 
the earth. 

III. 

N"ow, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 

And while the young lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound, 

To me alone there came a thought of grief ; 

A timely utterance gave that thought relief. 

And I again am strong. 
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the 

steep — 
N"o more shall grief of mine the season wrong. 
I hear the echoes through tlie mountains 

throng ; 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay ; 
Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity , 
And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday ; — 
Thou child of joy. 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thoii 
happy shepherd boy I 



714 



POEMS OF SEXTIMEXI AND REFLECTION. 



Ye blessed creatures ! I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
My heart is at your festival, 
My head hath its coronal — 
The fulness of your bliss, 1 feel, I feel it all. 
Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 
While earth herself is adorning. 

This sweet May -morning, 
And the children are culling 

On every side, 
In a thousand valleys far and wide. 
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines 
warm. 
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm — 
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 
— But there 's a tree, of many one, 
A single field which I have looked upon — 
Both of them speak of something that is gone ; 
The pansy at my feet 
Doth the same tale repeat. 
Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream? 



Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting ; 
The soul that rises with us, our life's star. 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
And Cometh from afar. 

Kot in entire forgetfulness. 

And not in utter nakedness. 
But trailing clouds of glory, do we come 

From God, who is our home. 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing boy ; 
But he beholds the light, and whence it 
flows — 

He sees it in his joy. 
The youth, who daily farther from the east 

Must travel, still is nature's priest. 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 



Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own. 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind; 
And, even with something of a mother's mind, 



A.nd no unworthy aim. 

The homely nurse doth all she can 
To make her foster-child, her inmate man. 

Forget the glories he hath known, 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 

VII. 

Behold the child among his new-born blisses— 
A six years' darling of a pigmy size ! 
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies. 
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses. 
With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart. 
Some fragment from his dream of human life. 
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art— 

A wedding or a festival, 

A mourning or a funeral — 
And this hath now his heart. 

And unto this he frames his song. 
Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside. 

And with new joy and pride 
The little actor cohs another part — 
Filling from time to time his "humorous 

stage " 
With all the persons, down to palsied age, 
That life brings with her in her equipage ; 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 






Thou, 



whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy soul's immensity ! 
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage ! thou eye among the blind. 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind !— 

Mighty prophet ! Seer blest. 

On whom those truths do rest 
Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave f 
Thou over whom thy immortality 
Broods like the day, a master oV.i a slave, 
A presence which is not to be put oj I 
Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's heightj 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou pro 

voke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke. 



1 



ODE. 



715 



Ihus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ? 
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly 

freight, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight 
Heayy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 

' IX. 

Oh joy ! that in our embers 

Is something that doth live. 
That nature yet remembers 
What was so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth 

breed 
Perpetual benediction : not, indeed. 
For that which is most worthy to be blest — 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest. 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his 
breast — 
Kot for these I raise 
The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings. 
Blank misgivings of a creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized. 
High instincts, before which our mortal nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised — 
But for those first affections. 
Those shadowy recollections. 
Which, be they what they may, 
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day. 
Are yet a master hght of all our seeing. 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to 
make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal silence : truths that wake, 

To perish never — 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor. 

Nor man nor boy. 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 

Hence in a season of calm weather, 
Though inland far w^e be. 
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither — 
Can in a moment travel thither. 
And see the children sport upon the shore, 
And bear the mighty waters rolling ever- 
more. 



Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song I 

And let the young lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound ! 
We in thought will join your throng, 

Ye that pipe and ye that play. 

Ye that through your hearts to-day 

Feel the gladness of the May ! 
What though the radiance which was once so 

bright 
Be now for ever taken from my sight ^ 

Though nothing can bring back the 
hour 
Of splendor in the grass, of gi^^ry in the 
fiower — 

We will grieve not, rathui find 

Strength in what remains behind : 

In the primal sympathy 

Which, having been, must ever be ; 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 

Out of human suffering ; 

In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

XI. 

And O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and 

groves, 
Forebode not any severing of our loves . 
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 
I only have relinquished one delight 
To live beneath your more habitual sway. 
I love the brooks w^hich down their channels 

fret. 
Even more than when I tripped lightly aa 

they ; 
The innocent brightness of a new-born day 

Is lovely yet ; 
The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober coloring from an eye 
That hath kept Avatch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms aro 

w^on. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears — 
To me the meanest flower that blows cau 

give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears, 
"William Wordsworth. 



710 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE LIGHT OF STAES. 

The night is come, biit not too soon ; 

And sinking silently, 
All silently, the little moon 

Drops down behind the sky. 

There is no light in earth or heaven, 
But the cold light of stars ; 

And the first watch of night is given 
To the red planet Mars. 

Is it the tender star of love ? 

The star of love and dreams? 
Oh no ! from that blue tent above 

A hero's armor gleams. 

- And earnest thoughts within me rise. 

When I behold afar. 
Suspended in the evening skies, 
The shield of that red star. 

star of strength ! I see thee stand 
And smile upon my pain ; 

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, 
And I am strong again. 

Within my breast there is no light. 
But the cold light of stars : 

1 give the first watch of the night 

To the red planet Mars. 

The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast. 
Serene, and resolute, and still. 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art. 
That readest this brief psalm, 

As one by one thy hopes depart. 
Be resolute and calm ! 

Oh fear not in a world like this, 
And thou shalt know ere long, 

Know how sublime a thing it is 
To sufifer and be strong. 

HeNBY WaDSWORTH LONGyBLWW. 



OTGHT. 

When I survey the bright 

Celestial sphere. 
So rich with jewels hung that night 

Doth like an Ethiop brido appear^ 

My soul her wings doth spread. 

And heavenward flies. 
The Almighty's mysteries to read 

In the large volume of the skies. 

For the bright firmament 

Shoots forth no flame 
So silent but is eloquent 

In speaking the Creator's name ; 

No unregarded star 

Contracts its light 
Into so small character. 

Removed far from our human sight, I 

But if we steadfast look, 

We shall discern 
In it, as in some holy book. 

How man may heavenly knowledge 
learn. 

It tells the conqueror 

That far-stretched power, 
Which his proud dangers traffic for, 

Is but the triumph of an hour — 

That from the farthest north 

Some nation may. 
Yet undiscovered, issue forth. 

And o'er his new-got conquest sway 

Some nation, yet shut in 

With hills of ice. 
May be let out to scourge his sin, 

Till they shall equal him in vice. 

And they likewise shall 

Their ruin have ; 
For as yourselves your empires fall, 

And every kingdom hath a grave. 



DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 



71'; 



There tliose celestial fires, 

Though seeming mute, 
The fallacy of our desires 

And all the pride of life confute. 

For they have watched since first 

The world had birth, 
And found sin in itself accurst, 

And nothing permanent on earth, 
William Habington. 



THE STUEDY KOCK, FOR ALL HIS 
STRENGTH. 

The sturdy rock, for all his strength, 
By raging seas is rent in twain ; 

The marble stone is pierced at length 
"With little drops of drizzling rain ; 

The ox doth yield unto the yoke ; 

The steel obey'th the hammer stroke ; 

The stately stag, that seems so stout, 
By yelping hounds at bay is set ; 

The swiftest bird that flies about 
Is caught at length in fowler's net ; 

The greatest fish in deepest brook 

Is soon deceived with subtle hook ; 

Yea ! man himself, unto whose will 
All things are bounden to obey. 

For aU his wit and worthy skill 
Doth fade at length, and fall away : 

There is no thing but time doth waste — 

The heavens, the earth consume at last. 

But virtue sits triumphing still 
Upon the throne of glorious fame ; 

Though spiteful death man's body kill, 
Yet hurts he not his virtuous name. 

By life or death, whatso betides, 

The state of virtue never slides. 

Anonymous. 



VIRTUE. 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky ! 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; 
For thou must die. 



Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, 
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye ! 
Tliy root is ever in its grave — 

And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and rose? 
A box where sweets compacted lie ! 
Thy music shows ye have your closes. 
And all must die. 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul. 
Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 
But, though the whole world turn to coal 
Then chiefly lives. 

George Heebbrt. 



DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 

The glories of our birth and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things; 
There is no armor against fate — 
Death lays his icy hands on kings ; 
Sceptre and crown 
Must tumble down. 
And in the dust be equal made 
"With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 
And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield — 
They tame but one another still ; 
Early or late 
They stoop to fate, 
And must give up their murmuring breatli, 
When they, pale captives, creep to death. 

The garlands wither on your brow — 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds- 
Upon death's purple altar, now, 
See where the victor victim bleeds! 
All heads must come 
To the cold tomb — 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. 

Tames SmRUST 



718 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



THE HERMIT. 

A.T the close of the day, when the hamlet is 

still, 
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness 

prove, 
When nought but the torrent is heard on the 

hill, 
And nought but the nightingale's song in the 

grove, 
T was thus, by the cave of the mountain afar. 
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit 

began ; 
N'o more with himself or with nature at war 
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man 



Xor yet fur the ravage of winter I mourn — 
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save ; 
But when shall spring visit the mouldering 

urn? 
Oh when shall day dawn on the night of the 

grave ? 



"Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness and 



Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall ? 

For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, 

And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall. 

But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay — 

Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee 
to mourn ! 

Oh soothe him, whose pleasures like thine 
pass away ! 

Full quickly they pass — but they never re- 
turn. 

"Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, 

The moon, half extinguished, her crescent dis- 
plays; 

But lately I marked when majestic on high 

She shone, and the planets were lost in her 
blaze. 

Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pur- 
sue 

The path that conducts thee to splendor again ! 

But man's faded glory what change shall re- 
new? 

Ah, fool ! to exult in a glory so vain ! 

" 'T is night, and the landscape is lovely no 
more. 

I mourn — but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for 
you; 

For morn is approaching your charms to re- 
store. 

Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering 
with dew. 



"'T was thus, by the glare of false science be- 
trayed. 

That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind, 

My thoughts wont to roam from shade on- 
ward to shade. 

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 

'" Oh pity, great Father of light,' then I cried, 
', ' Thy creature, who fain vrould not wander 
from thee! 

Lo, humbled in dust, [ relinquish my pride ; 

From doubt and from darkness thou only 
canst free.' 



"And darkness and doubt are now flying 
away; 

IjTo longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. 11 

So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, f 

The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. 

See truth, love, and mercy in triumph de- 
scending. 

And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! 

On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses 
are blending, 

And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb. 

James BEiTTDC 



THE STRIFE. 

The wish that of the living whole 

No life may fail beyond the grave— 
Derives it not from what we have 

The likest God within the soul ? 

Are God and nature then at strife, 

That nature lends such evil dreams ? 
So careful of the type she seems, 

So careless of the single life, 

That I, considering every where 

Her secret meaning in her deeds. 
And finding that of fifty seeds 

She often brings but one to bear— 



THE SLEEP. 



719 



I falter where I firmly trod ; 

And, falling with my weight of cares 
Upon the great world's altar-stairs, 

That slope through darkness up to God, 



I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope. 
And gather drst and chaff, and call 
To what I fecx is Lord of all. 

And faintly trust the larger hope. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



TUE SLAVE SUsTGIN^a AT MIDOTGHT. 

Loud he sarig the psalm of David! 
He, a negro and enslaved — 
Sang of Israel's victory. 
Sang of Zion, hright and free. 

In that hour, when night is calmest, 
Sang he from the Hebrew psalmist. 
In a voice so sweet and clear 
That I could not choose but hear — 

Songs of triumpii, and ascriptions, 
Such as reached the swart Egyptians, 
"When upon the Red Sea coast 
Perished Pharaoh and his host. 

And the voice of his devotion 
Filled my soul with strange emotion ; 
For its tones by turns were glad. 
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. 

Paul and Sihas, in their prison, 
Sang of Clirist, the Lord arisen ; 
And an earthquake's arm of might 
Broke their dungeon-gates at night. 

But, alas I what lioly angel 
Brings the slave this glad evangel? 
And what earthquake's arm of might 
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night? 

Henky Wadswortu Lonwfellow. 



THE SLEEP 



Of all the thoughts of God that are 
Borne inward unto souls afar. 

Along the Psalmist's music deep, 
Kow tell me if that any is 
For gift or grace surpassing this — 

"He giveth his beloved sleep." 

What w^ould we give to our beloved ? 
The hero's heart, to be unmoved — 

The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep— 
The senate's shout to patriot's vows — 
The monarch's crown, to light the brows ? 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

What do we give to our beloved ? 
A little faith, all undisproved — 

A little dust to overweep — 
And bitter memories, to make 
The whole earth blasted for our sake ! — 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

"Sleep soft, beloved ! " we sometimes say, 
But have no tune to charm away 

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep 
But never doleful dream again 
Shall break the happy slumber when 

"He giveth his beloved sleep." 

earth, so full of dreary noises ! 
men, with wailing in your voices ! 
delved gold the wallers' heap ! 

strife, curse, that o'er it fall ! 
God makes a silence through you all, 

"And giveth his beloved sleep." 

His dew drops mutely on the liill; 
His cloud above it saileth still, 

Though on its slope men toil and reap. 
More softly than the dew is shed, 
Or cloud is floated overhead, 

"He giveth his beloved sleej)." 

Yea ! men may wonder while they scan 
A living, thinking, feeling man 

In such a rest his heart to keep ; 
But angels say — and through the word 

1 ween their blessed smile is heard — 

" He giveth his beloved sleep." 



720 



POEMS OF SENTIMEJST AND REFLECTION. 



For me, my heart that erst did go 
Most like a tired cliild at a show, 

That sees through tears the juggler's leap, 
Would now its wearied vision close — 
Would, childlike, on His love repose 

Who " giveth His heloved sleep." 

And friends ! — dear freinds ! — when it shall be 
That this low breath is gone from me, 

And round my bier ye come to weep. 
Let one, most losing of you all. 
Say, " I^ot a tear must o'er her rail" — 

" He giveth His beloved sleep." 

Elizabeth Baekett Browning. 



AlSr OLD POET TO SLEEP. 

N"o god to mortals oftener descends 
Than thou, O sleep ! yet thee the sad alone 
Invoke, and gratefully thy gift receive. 
Some thou invitest to explore the sands 
Left by Pactolus ; some to climb up higher. 
Where points ambition to the pomps of war ; 
Others thou watchest while they tighten 

obes 
Which law throws round them loose, and 

they meanwhile 
Wink at a judge, and he the wink returns. 
Apart sit fewer, whom thou lovest more 
And leadest where unruffled rivers flow. 
Or azure lakes 'neath azure skies expand. 
These have no wider wishes, and no fears. 
Unless a fear, in turning to molest 
The silent, solitary, stately swan. 
Disdaining the garrulity of groves 
Nor seeking shelter there from sun or storm. 

Me also hast thou led among such scenes. 
Gentlest of gods ! and age appeared far off 
While thou wast standing close above the 

couch, 
And whispered'st, in whisper not unheard, 
" I now depart from thee, but leave behind 
My own twin-brother, friendly as myself. 
Who soon shall take my place ; men call him 

Death. 
Thou hearest me, nor tremblest, as most do ; 
in sooth, why shouldst thou ? What man hast 

thou wronged 
By deed or word" ? Few dare ask this within." 



There was a pause; then suddenly said 
Sleep, 
"He whom I named approacheth, so fare- 
well." 

TValtee Savage Landob. 



SLEEP. 



Weep ye no more, sad fountains ! 

What need you flow so fast ? 
Look how the snowy mountains 
Heaven's sun doth gently waste. 
But my sun's heavenly eyes 
Yiew not your weeping, 
That now hes sleeping 
Softly, now softly lies 
Sleeping. 

Sleep is a reconcihng — 

A rest that peace begets ; 
Doth not the sun rise smiling, 
When fair at even he sets ? * 
Rest you then, rest, sad eyes — 
Melt not in weeping. 
While she lies sleeping 
Softly, now softly lies 
Sleeping. 

John Dowlanb 



LIFE AND DEATH. 

Life and Death are sisters fair ; 
Yes, they are a lovely pair. 
Life is sung in joyous song ; 
While men do her sister wrong, 
Calhng her severe and stern. 
While her heart for them doth burn ; 
Weave, then, weave a grateful wreath, 
For the sisters Life and Death. 

If fair Life her sister lost, 
On a boundless ocean tost, 
She would rove in great unrest, 
Missing that warm loving breast. 
Now, when scared by wild alarms, 
She can seek her sister's arms — 
To that tender bosom flee. 
Sink to sleep in ecstasy. 

ANONYMOVfcb 



THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT. 



721 



THE GBEENWOOD SHRIFT. 

OuTSTEETOHED beneath the leafy shade 
Of Windsor forest's deepest glade, 

A dying woman lay ; 
Three little children round her stood, 
And there went up from the greenwood 

A woful wail that day. 

" O mother ! " was the mingled cry, 
" mother, mother ! do not die, 

And leave us all alone." 
" My blessed babes ! " she tried to say — 
But the faint accents died away 

In a low sobbing moan. 

And then, life struggling hard with death. 
And fast and strong she drew her breath, 

And up she raised her head ; 
And, peering through the deep wood maze 
With a long, sharp, unearthly gaze, 

" Will she not come ? " she said. 

Just then, the parting boughs between, 
A little maid's light form was seen. 

All breathless with her speed ; 
And, following close, a man came on 
{A portly man to look upon), 

Who led a panting steed. 

" Mother! " the little maiden cried. 
Or e'er she reached the woman's side, 

And kissed her clay-cold cheek — 
" I have not idled in the town, 
But long weflt wandering up and down, 

The minister to seek. 

"They told me here, they told me there — 
I think they mocked me everywhere ; 

And when I found his home, 
And begged him on my bended knee 
To bring his book and come with me, 

Mother ! he would not come. 

" I told him how you dying lay, 
And could not go in peace away 

Without the minister ; 
I begged him, for dear Christ his sake, 
But oh I my heart was fit to break- 
Mother I he would not stir. 
95 



" So, though my tears were Winding me, 
I ran back, fast as fast could be, 

To come again to you ; 
And here — close by — this squire I met, 
Who asked (so mild) what made me fret; 

And when I told him true, — 

'' ' I will go with you, child,' he said, 
' God sends me to this dying bed ' — 

Mother, he 's here, hard by." 
While thus the little maiden spoke, 
The man, his back against an oak, 

Looked on with glistening eye. 

The bridle on his neck hung free. 

With quivering flank and trembling knee, 

Pressed close his bonny bay ; 
A statelier man — a statelier steed — 
Never on greensward paced, I rede. 

Than those stood there that day. 

So, while the little maiden spoke. 
The man, his back against an oak. 

Looked on with glistening eye 
And folded arms, and in his look 
Something that, like a sermon-book, 

Preached—'' All is vanity." 

But when the dying woman's face 
Turned toward him with a wishful gaze, 

He stepped to where she lay ; 
And, kneeling down, bent over her, 
Saying — "I am a minister, 

My sister ! let us pray." 

And well, withouten book or stole 
(God's words were printed on his soul I) 

Into the dying ear 
He breathed, as 't were an angel's strain, 
The things that unto life pertain. 

And death's dark shadows cleai*. 

lie spoke of sinners' lost estate. 
In Christ renewed, regenerate — 

Of God's most blest decree. 
That not a single soul should die 
Who turns repentant, with the cry 

" Be merciful to me." 

He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil, 
Endured but for a little while 



f 



?22 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



In patience, faith, and love — 
Sure, in God's own good time, to be 
Exchanged for an eternity 

Of happiness above. 

Then — as the spirit ebbed away — 
He raised his hands and eyes to pray 

That peaceful it might pass ; 
And then — ^the orphans' sobs alone 
Were heard, and they knelt, every one, 

Close round on the green grass. 

Such was the sight their wandermg eyes 
Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise. 

Who reined their coursers back. 
Just as they found the long astray. 
Who, in the heat of chase that day. 

Had wandered from their track. 

But each man reined his pawing steed. 
And lighted down, as if agreed, 

In silence at his side ; 
And there, uncovered all, they stood — 
It was a wholesome sight and good 

That day for mortal pride. 

For of the noblest of the land 

Was that deep-hushed, bare-headed band ; 

And, central in the ring, 
By that dead pauper on the ground. 
Her ragged orphans chnging round. 

Knelt their anointed king. 

EOBEET and CakOLLNE SotTTHET. 



KING DEATH. 

King Death was a rare old fellow ! 

He sat where no sun could shine ; 
And he lifted his hand so yellow. 

And poured out his coal-black wine. 

Hurrah ! for the coal-llacTc wine ! 

There came to him many a maiden 
Whose eyes had forgot to shine. 

And widows, with grief o'erladen, 
For a draught of his sleepy wine. 

Hurrah ! for the coalMack wine I 

The scholar left all hiy learning ; 

The poet his fancied woes ; 
And the beauty her bloom returning, 

Like Hfe to the fading rose. 

Eurrah ! for Xhe coal-Uach wine ! 



AU came to the rare old fellow, 

Who laughed till his eyes dropped brincv 
As he gave them his hand so yellow, 
And pledged them in Death's black w Ine. 
Hurrah! Hurrah! 
Hurrah ! for the coal-llach wine I 
Baeey Cornwall. 



A PSALM OF LIFE. 

WHAT THE HEAET OF THE YOTTNG MAN SAID 
TO THE PSALMIST. 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
" Life is but an empty dream ! " 

For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
Is our destined end or way ; 

But to act, that each to- morrow 
Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and time is fleeting. 

And our hearts, though stout and brave^ 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle. 

In the bivouac of life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle. 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no future, how e'er pleasant ! 

Let the dead past bury its dead ! 
Act — act in the living present ! 

Heart within, and God overhead I 

Lives of great men all remind ns 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time — 

Footprints that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 



AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. 
• 



728 



Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait. 

Heney Wadswokth LOXaPELLOW. 



"MY DAYS AMONG THE DEAD." 

My days among the dead are passed ; 

Around me I behold. 
Where'er these casual eyes are cast, 

The mighty minds of old ; 
My never-failing friends are they. 
With whom I converse day by day. 

With them I take delight in weal, 

And seek relief in woe ; 
And while I understand and feel 

How much to them I owe, 
My cheeks have often been bedewed 
With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 

My thoughts are with the dead ; with them 

I live in long-past years ; 
Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 

Partake their hopes and fears, 
And from their lessons seek and find 
Instruction with an humble mind. 

My hopes are with the dead ; anon 

My place with them will be, 
And I with them shall travel on 

Through all futurity : 
Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
That will not perish in the dust. 

Robert Sottthet. 



SIT DOWN, SAD SOUL. 

Sit down, sad soul, and count 

The moments flying ; 
Come — tell the sweet amount 

That 's lost by sighing ! 
How many smiles ? — a score ? 
Then laugh, and count no more ; 
For day is dying ! 

Lie down, sad soul, and sleep. 
And no more measure 

The flight of time, nor weep 
The loss of leisure ; 



But here, by this lone stream, 
Lie down with us, and dream 
Of starry treasure! 

We dream ; do thou the same ; 

We love — for ever ; 
We laugh, yet few we shame — 

The gentle never. 
Stay, then, till sorrow dies ; 
Then — ^hope and happy skies 
Are thine for ever ! 

Baeey Corn-wall 



LIFE. 



We are born ; we laugh ; we weep ; 

We love ; we droop ; we die ! 
Ah! wherefore do we laugh or weep? 

Why do we live or die ? 
Who knows that secret deep ? 

Alas, not I ! 

Why doth the violet spring 

Unseen by human eye ? 
Why do the radiant seasons bring 

Sweet thoughts that quickly fly ? 
Why do our fond hearts cling 

To things that die ? 

We toil — through pain and wrong ; 

We fight — and fly ; 
We love ; we lose ; and then, ere Icng, 

Stone-dead we lie. 
O life ! is all thy song 

" Endure and — die ? " 

Barey Cornwall. 



AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. 

How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, 
Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight. 
An angel came to us, and we could bear 
To see him issue from the silent air 
At evening in our room, and bend on ours 
His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowera 
News of dear friends, and children who have 

never 
Been dead indeed — as we sliall know for- 

ever. 



724 



PCEMS OF SENTIMENT AND EEFLECTION 



Alas ! we think not what we daily see 
About our hearths — angels, that are to be, 
Or may be if they will, and we prepare 
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air ; 
A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart 

sings 
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings. 

Leigh Hunt. 



KING EGBERT OF SICILY. 

RoBEET of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 

And y almond, emperor of AUemaine, 

iVpparelled in magnificent attire, 

With retinue of many a knight and squire, 

On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 

And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. 

And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 

Repeated, like a burden or refrain. 

He caught the words, '' Deposuit potentes 

De sede, et exaltavit humiles ; " 

And slowly lifting up his kingly head, 

He to a learned clerk beside him said, 

^' What mean these words? " the clerk made 

answer meet, 
'^ He has put down the mighty from then* seat. 
And has exalted them of low degree." 
Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, 
" 'T is well that such seditious words are sung 
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; 
For unto priests and people be it known. 
There is no power can push me from my 

throne I " 
And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep. 
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. 

When he awoke, it was already night ; 

The church was empty, and there was no 
light. 

Save where the lamps that glimmered, few 
and faint. 

Lighted a little space before some saint. 

He started from his seat and gazed around. 

But saw no living thing and heard no sound. 

He groped towards the door, but it was 
locked; 

He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked. 

And uttered awful threatenings and com- 
plaints, 

And imprecations upon men and saints. 



The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls 
As if dead priests were laughing in their 
stalls. 

At length the sexton, hearing from without 
The tumult of the knocking and the shout, 
And thinking thieves were in the house of 

prayer. 
Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is 

there ? " 
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely 

said, 
" Open : 't is I, the king ! Art thou afraid ? " 
The frightened sexton, muttering, with a 

curse, 
" This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! " 
Turned the great key and flung the portal 

wide ; 
A man rushed by him at a single stride. 
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak. 
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, noi 

spoke, 
But leaped into the blackness of the night, 
And vanished like a spectre from his sight, 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
And Yalmond, emperor of AUemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire. 
Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with 

mire. 
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate. 
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ; 
Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in 

his rage 
To right and left each seneschal and page, 
And hurried up the broad and sounding 

stair. 
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 
From hall to hall he passed with breathless 

speed ; 
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, 
Until at last he reached the banquet-room. 
Blazing with light, and breathing with per- 
fume. 
There on the dais sat another king, 
Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-iing, 
King Robert's self in features, form, and 

height, 
But all transfigured with angelic light ! 
It was an angel; and his presence there 
With a divine effulgence filled the air. 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 



726 



An exaltation, piercing tlie disguise, 
Though none the hidden angel recognize. 



A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, 
The throneless monarch on the angel gazed, 
Who met his looks of anger and surprise 
With the divine compassion of his ejes ; 
Then said, " Who art thou ? and why com'st 

thou here ? " 
To which King Rohert answered with a sneer, 
*' I am the king, and come to claim my own 
From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! " 
And suddenly, at these audacious words, 
Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their 

swords ; 
The angel answered, with unruffled brow, 
*' My, not the king, but the king's jester ; 

thou 
Henceforth shall wear the bells and scalloped 

cape, 
And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape : 
Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, 
And wait upon my henchmen in the hall ! " 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and 

prayers, 
They thrust him from the hall and down the 

stairs ; 
A group of tittering pages ran before, 
And as they opened wide the folding-door, 
His heart failed, for he heard, with strange 

alarms, 
The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, 
And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring 
With the mock plaudits of "Long live the 

king ! " 
Next morning, waking with the day's first 

beam. 
He said within himself, " It was a dream ! " 
But the straw rustled as he turned his head, 
There were the cap and bells beside his bed ; 
Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, 
Close by, the steeds were champing in their 

stalls, 
And in the corner, a revolting shape, 
Shivering and chattering, sat the wretched 

ape. 
It was no dream ; the world he loved so much 
Elad turned to dust and aslies at his touch ! 



Days came and went; and now returned 

again 
To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; 
Under the angel's governance benign 
The happy island danced with corn and wine. 
And deep within the mountain's burning 

breast 
Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. 
Meanvrhile King Robert yielded to his fate. 
Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 
Dressed in the motley garb that jesters wear 
With looks bewildered and a vacant stare, 
Close shaven above the ears, as monks aro 

shorn, 
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to 

scorn, 
His only friend the ape, his only food 
What others left, — he still was unsubdued. 
And when the angel met him on his way, 
And half in earnest, half in jest, would say. 
Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 
The velvet scabbard held a svrord of steel, 
" Art thou the king ? " the passion of his woe 
Burst from him in resistless overflow, 
And lifting high his forehead, he would fling 
The haughty answer back, " I am, I am the 

king ! " 

Almost three years were ended ; when there 

came 
Ambassadors of great repute and name 
From Yalmond, emperor of Allemaine, 
Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane 
By letter summoned them forthwith to come 
On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 
The angel with great joy received his guests, 
And gave them presents of embroidered vests, 
And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined. 
And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 
Then he departed with them o'er the sea 
Into the lovely land of Italy, 
Wliose loveliness was more resplendent made 
By the mere passing of that cavalcade, 
With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, ami 

the stir 
Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. 

And lo ! among the menials, in mock state, 
Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, 
His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, 
The solemn ape demuirely perched behind. 



726 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



King Eobert rode, making huge merriment 
In all the coimtrj towns through which thej 
went. 

The pope received them with great pomp, 

and blare 
Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square, 
Giving his benediction and embrace, ^ 

Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 
While with congratulations and vdth prayers 
He entertained the angel unawares, 
Robert, the jester, bursting through the 

crowd. 
Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud : 
" I am the king ! Look and behold in me 
Robert, your brother, king of Sicily ! 
This man, who wears my semblance to your 

eyes. 
Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 
Do you not know me? does no voice within 
Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? " 
The pope in silence, but with troubled mien, 
Gazed at the angel's countenance serene ; 
The emperor, laughing, said, " It is strange 

sport 
To keep a madman for thy fool at court ! " 
And the poor, baffled jester in disgrace 
Was hustled back among the populace. 

In solemn state the holy week went by. 
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; 
The presence of an angel, with its light. 
Before the sun rose, made the city bright, 
And with new fervor filled the hearts of men. 
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 
Even the jester, on his bed of straw. 
With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor 

saw; 
He felt within a power unfelt before. 
And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor. 
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord 
Sweep through the silent air, ascending 

heavenward. 

And now .the visit ending, and once more 
Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, 
Homeward the angel journeyed, and again 
The land was made resplendent with his train. 
Flashing along the towns of Italy 
Unto Salerno, and from there by sea. 
And when once more within Palermo's wall, 
And, seated on his throne in his gi^eat hall, 



He heard the Angelus from convent towers, 
As if the better world conversed with ours, 
He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher 
And with a gesture bade the rest retire • 
And when they were alone, the angel said 
" Art thou the king? " Then bowing down 

his head. 
King Robert crossed both hands upon hi 

breast, 
And meekly answered him : " Thouknowest 

best ! 
My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence, 
And in some cloister's school of penitence, 
Across those stones that pave the way to 

heaven 

Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven ! " 
The angel smiled, and from his radiant face 
A holy light illumined all the place, 
And through the open window, loud and 

clear, 
They heard the monks chant in the chapel 

near. 
Above the stir and tumult of the street : 
" He has put down the mighty from their seat^ 
And has exalted them of low degree ! " 
And through the chant a second melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single string : 
"I am an angel, and thou art the king! " 

King Robert, who was standing near the 

throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone ! 
But all apparelled as in days of old, 
With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; 
And when his courtiers came they found him 

there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent 

prayer. 

Henby Wadsworth Longfellow. 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

When the hours of day are numbered, 
And the voices of the night 

Wake the better soul that slumbered 
To a holy, calm delight — 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 



SONNET. 



72<> 

E'en such is man, whose borrowed ligli. 
Is straight called in, and paid to-night. 
The wind blows out, the bubble dies, 
The spring entombed in autumn lies. 
The dew dries up, the star is shot, 
The flight is past — and man forgot ! 

Heney Kinq. 



MAN'S MORTALITY. 

■ Like as the damask rose you see, 
Or Hke the blossom on the tree, 
Or like the dainty flower in May, 
Or like the morning of the day. 
Or like the sun, or like the shade, 
Or like the gourd which Jonas had — 
E'en such is man ; — whose thread is spuiu 
Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. — 
The rose withers, the blossom blasteth. 
The flower fades, the morning hasteth. 
The sun sets, the shadow flies. 
The gourd consumes — and man lie dies ! 

Lil<:e to the grass that 's newly sprung, 
Or like a tale that 's new begun. 
Or like the bird that's here to-day, 
Or like the pearled dew of May, 
Or like an hour, or like a span, 
Or like the singing of a swan — 
E'en such is man ; — who lives by breath. 
Is here, now there, in life and death. — 
The grass withers, the tale is ended. 
The bird is flown, the dew 's ascended. 
The hour is short, the span is long, 
The swan 's near death — man's hfe is done I 

Simon Wastell. 



Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door — 
The beloved ones, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more : 

He, the young and strong, who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife. 

By the road-side fell and perished, 
Weary with the march of life ! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suffering bore, 

Folded their pale hands so meekly. 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 

And with them the being beauteous 
Who unto my youth was given, 

More than all things else to love me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine. 

Takes the vacant chair beside me. 
Lays her gentle hand in mine; 

And she sits and gazes at me 
With those deep and tender eyes, 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer. 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended. 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely. 

All my fears are laid aside, 
If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died I 
Heney Wadswoeth Longfellow. 



LIFE. 



Like to the falling of a star. 
Or as the flights of eagles are. 
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 
Or silver drops of morning dew, 
Or like a wind that chafes the flood. 
Or bubbles which on water stood — 



SONNET. 

Of mortal glory, soon darkened ray ! 
winged joys of man, more swift than wind! 
fond desires, which in our fancies stray ! 
O trait'rous hopes, which do our judgments 

blind I 
Lo, in a flash that light is gone away 
Which dazzle did each eye, delight each 

mind, 
And, with that sun from whence it came 

combined. 



r28 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



i?ow makes more radiant heaven's tjternal 

day. 
Let beaut J now bedew her cheeks with tears;. 
Let widowed music only roar and groan ; 
Poor virtue, get thee wings and mount the 

spheres, 
For dwelhng-place on earth for thee is none ! 
Death hath thy temple razed, love's empire 

foiled. 
The world of honor, worth, and sweetness 

spoiled. 

William Drummond. 



LINES ON A SKELETOK 

Behold this ruin ! — 'T was a skull 
Once of ethereal spirit full ! 
This narrow cell was life's retreat ; 
This space was thought's mysterious seat ; 
What beauteous pictures filled this spot — 
What dreams of pleasures long forgot ! . 
Nor love, nor joy, nor hope, nor fear, 
Has left one trace of record here. 

Beneath this mouldering canopy 

Once shone the bright and busy eye ; 

But start not at the dismal void ; — 

If social love that eye employed. 

If with no lawless fire it gleamed. 

But through the dew of kindness beamed, 

That eye shall be forever bright 

When stars and suns have lost their hght. 

Here, in this silent cavern, hung 

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue : 

If falsehood's honey it disdained, 

And, where it could not praise, was 

chained — 
If bold in virtue's cause it spoke. 
Yet gentle concord never broke, 
That tuneful tongue shall plead for thee 
When death unveils eternity. 

Say, did these fingers delve the mine, 
Or with its envied rubies shine? 
To hew the rock or wear the gem 
Can nothing now avail to them ; 
But if the page of truth they sought. 
Or comfort to the mourner brought. 
These hands a richer meed shall claim 
Tlian all that waits on wealth or fame. 



Avails it whether bare or shod 
These feet the path of duty trod? 
If from the bowers of joy they fled 
To soothe affliction's humble bed — 
If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, 
And home to virtue's lap returned. 
Those feet with angel's wings shall vie, 
And tread the palace of the sky. 

Anonymous. 



HYMN OF THE OHUROH-YAKD. 

An me ! this is a sad and silent city : 

Let me walk softly o'er it, and survey 
Its grassy streets with melancholy pity! 
Where are its children ? where their glee- 
some play ? 
Alas ! their cradled rest is cold and deep,— 
Their playthings are thrown by, and they 
asleep. 

This is pale beauty's bower ; but where the 
beautiful. 

Whom I have seen come forth at evening'a 
hours, 

Leading their aged friends, with feelings du- 
tiful, 

Amid the wreaths of spring to gather flow- 
ers? 

Alas ! no flowers are here but flowers ot 
death. 

And those who once were sweetest sleep be- 
neath. 

This is a populous place ; but where the 
bustling — 
The crowded buyers of the noisy mart — 
The lookers-on, — the snowy garments rust- 
ling,— 
The money-changers, and the men of art 
Business, alas ! hath stopped in mid career, 
And none are anxious to resume it here. 

This is the home of grandeur : where are 

they,— 
The rich, the great, the glorious, and the 

wise? 
Where are the trappings of the proud, the 

gay,— 

The gaudy guise of human butterflies ? 



THANATOPSIS. 



721» 



A.las ! all lowly lies each lofty brow, 

And the green sod dizens their beauty now. 



This is a place of refuge and repose. 
Where are the poor, the old, the weary 

wight, 
The scorned, the humble, and the man of 

woes, 
Who wept for morn, and sighed again for 

night ? 
Their sighs at last have ceased, and here they 

sleep 
Beside their scorners, and forget to weep. 



This is a place of gloom : where are the 
gloomy ? 
The gloomy are not citizens of death- 
Approach and look, where the long grass is 
plumy; 
See them above ! they are not found be- 
neath ! 
For these low denizens, with artful wiles, 
Nature, in flowers, contrives her mimic 
smiles. 



This is a place of sorrow : friends have met 
And mingled tears o'er those who answered 
not; 

And where are they whose eyelids then were 
wet? 
Alas! their griefs, their tears, are all for- 
got; 

They, too, are landed in this silent city, 

Where there is neither love, nor tears, nor 
pity. 



This is a place of fear : the firmest eye 

Hath quailed to see its shadowy dreariness ; 
But Christian hope, and heavenly prospects 
high, 
And earthly cares, and nature's weariness, 
riave made the timid pilgrim cease to fear. 
And long to end liis painful journey here. 

John Bethunb. 



THANATOPSIS. 

To him who in the love of nature holds 
Cornmunion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
Into his darker musings with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness ere he is aware. When 

thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow 

house. 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at 

heart — 
Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
To nature's teachings, while from all around — 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 
Comes a still voice : Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold gromid, 
Where thy pale form was laid with many 

tears. 
Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall 

claim 
Thy growth to be resolved to earth again ; 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix for ever with the elements — 
To be a brother to the insensible rock. 
And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The 

oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy 

mould. 

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie 

down 
With patriarchs of the inlant world — with 

kings. 
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the 

good — 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 



730 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—- the 

vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between — 
The venerable woods — rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured 

round all, 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun. 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death. 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that 

tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 
Of morning ; traverse Barca's desert sands, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Wliere rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are 

there ; 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure? AU that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and eacb one as before will chase 
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall 

leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall 

come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long 

train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men. 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who 

goes 
In the full strength of years — matron, and 

maid. 
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed 

man, — 
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side 
By those, who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to 
join 
The innumerable caravan which moves 
To that mysterious realm where each shall 
take 



His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained 

and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the di*apery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams, 
"William Cullen Bryant 



OYER THE RIVER. 

OvEE the river they beckon to me. 
Loved ones who 've crossed to the farther 
side, 
The gleam of their snowy robes I see, 
But their voices are lost in the dashing 
tide. 
There 's one with ringlets of sunny gold. 
And eyes the reflection of heaven's own 
blue; 
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, 
And the pale mist hid him from mortal 
view. 
We saw not the angels who met him there, 

The gates of the city we could not see : 
Over the river, over the river. 
My brother stands waiting to welcome me 

Over the river the boatman pale 

Carried another, the household pet ; 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, 

Darling Minnie ! I see her yet. 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, 

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark ; 
We felt it glide from the silver sands. 

And aU our sunshine grew strangely dark ; 
We know she is safe on the farther side. 

Where all the ransomed and angels be : 
Over the river, the mystic river, 

My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 

For none return from those quiet shores, 
Who cross with the boatman cold and 
pale; 
We hear the dip of the golden oars, 

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail ; 
And lo ! they have passed from our yearning 
hearts, 
They cross the stream and are gone foi 
aye. 
We may not sunder the vail apart 



p 



ELEGY WKITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 



731 



That hides from our vision the gates of 
day; 
We only know that their barks no more 

May sail with iis o'er life's stormy sea ; 
fet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore. 

They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. 

And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold 

Is flushing river and hill and shore, 
[ shall one day stand by the water cold. 

And list for the sound of the boatman's 
oar; 
[ shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, 

I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, 
[ shall pass from sight with the boatman 
pale, 

To the better shore of the spirit land. 
[ shall know the loved who have gone before, 

And joyfully sweet will the meeting be. 
When over the river, the peaceful river. 

The angel of death shall carry me. 

Nancy Amelia Woodbihiy Priest. 



THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. 

BwEET is the scene when virtue dies ! 

When sinks a righteous soul to rest. 
How mildly beam the closing eyes. 

How gently heaves th' expiring breast ! 

So fades a summer cloud away. 
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er. 

So gently shuts the eye of day, 
So dies a wave along the shore. 

Triumphant smiles the victor brow. 
Fanned by some angel's purple wing ; — 

Where is, grave I thy victory now ? 
And where, insidious death ! thy sting ? 

Farewell conflicting joys and fears, 
Where light and shade alternate dwell ! 

How bright th' unchanging morn appears ;- 
Farewell, inconstant world, farewell ! 

its duty done, — as sinks the day. 
Light from its load the spirit flies ; 

While heaven and earth combine to say 
" Sweet is the scene when virtue dies I " 
Ansa L^stitia Babbauld. 



ELEGY WPwITTEN IIST A COUNTRY 
CHURCH-YARD. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea. 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary 
way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to 
me. 

N"ow fades the glimmering landscape on the 
sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning 
flight. 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower. 
The moping owl does to the moon com- 
plain 

Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree'<! 
shade. 
Where heaves the turf in many a moulder- 
ing heap. 
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid. 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn. 
The swallow twitt'ring from the straw 
built shed, 
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn. 
ISTo more shall rouse them from their lowlj 
bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall 
burn. 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
No children run to lisp their sire's return, 

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 
Their furrow oft the etubborn glebe ha.' 
broke ; 
How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! 
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdj 
-troke I 



732 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

Tlie boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er 
gave, 

Await ahke th' inevitable hour. — 
The patlis of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault. 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies 
raise. 
Where through the long-drawn aisle and 
fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of 
praise. 

Can storied urn, or animated bust, 
Back to its mansion call the fleetmg breath ? 

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial 
fire — 
Uands, that the rod of empire might have 
swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre ; 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er un- 
roll ; 

Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless 
breast. 
The Httle tyrant of his fields withstood— 
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest, 
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's 
blood. 

Th' applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. 
And read their history in a nation's eyes. 



Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone 
Their growing virtues, but their crimes 
confined — 
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a 
throne. 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

The strugghng pangs of conscious truth to 
hide. 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 

With incense kindled at the muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 

Along the cool, sequestered vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to protect. 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh. 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculp- 
ture decked. 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlet- 
tered muse. 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look be 
hind? 

On some foi^d breast the parting soul rehes, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries. 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored 
dead. 

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
If chance, by lonely contemplation led. 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate— 

Ilaply some hoary-hcoded swain may say : 
" Oft have we seen him at the peep of 
dawn 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 



73'c 



" There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so 
high, 
Uis listless length at noontide would he 
stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles 
by. 

Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in 

scorn. 
Muttering his wayward fancies he wo^ald 
rove- 
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one for- 
lorn. 
Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless 
love. 

One morn I missed him on the customed 

hill, 
Along the heatn, and near his favorite 

tree ; 
Another came — nor yot beside the rill, 
Xor up the lawn, nor at the wood was 

he', 



" The next, with dirges due in sad array. 
Slow through the church-way path we saw 
him borne: — 
Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the 
lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yorv aged 
thorn." 

TUE EPTTAPD. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
A youth to fortune and to fame unkno i\'n ; 

Fair science frowned not on his humble Mrth, 
And melancholy marked him for her rwn. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sh: core- 
Heaven did a recompense as largely scud ; 

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, 

He gained from heaven ('t was al: he 
wished) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw liis Irai^ties from their dread 
abode — 
(There they alike \n trembling hope repose), 
The bosom of his Fatner and his God. 

Thomas Gray. 



PART X. 

POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Oh ! what is man, great Maker of mankind ! 

That Thou to him so great respect dost bear — 
That Thou adorn'st him with so bright a mind, 

Mak'st him a king, and even an angel's peer ? 

Oh ! what a lively life, what heavenly power, 
What spreading virtue, what a sparkling fire! 

How great, how plentiful, how rich a dowei 
Dost Thou within this dying flesh inspire ! 

Thou leav'st Thy print in other works of Thine, 
But Thy whole image Thou in man hast writ ; 

There cannot be a creature more divine, 
Except, like Thee, it should be infinite. 

But it exceeds man's thought, to think how high 
God hath raised man, since God a man became; 

The angels do admire this mystery. 
And are astonished when they view the same. 

Nor hath he given these blessings for a day, 
Nor made them on the body's life depend : 

Tlie soul, though made in time, survives for aye , 
And though it hath h«c;inning, sees no end. 

SiK John Davies. 



M 



POEMS OF EELIGIOI^. 



DAKKKESS IS THINFIISrG. 

Oarjojess is thinning; sliadows are retreat- 
ing: 
Morning and light are coming in their beauty. 
Suppliant seek we, with an earnest outcry, 
God the Almighty ! 

So that our Master, having mercy on us, 
May repel languor, may bestow salvation. 
Granting us, Father, of Thy loving kindness 
Glory hereafter ! 

This of His mercy, ever blessed Godhead, 

Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit, give us — 

Whom through the wide world celebrate for 

ever 

Blessing and glory ! 

St. Gregory the Great. (Latin.) 
TifJialation of John Mason Neale. 



RULES AND LESSONS. 

"When first thy eies unveil, give thy soul leave 

To do the like , our bodies but forerun 

The spirit's duty. True hearts spread and 

heave 
Unto their God, as flow'rs do to the sun. 
Give Him thy first thoughts then ; so shalt 

thou keep 
ffim company all day, and in Him sleep. 

ITet never sleep the sua ,/p. Prayer shou'd 
Dawn with the day. There are set, awful 

hours 
^wixt heaven and us. Tlio manna was not 

good 
After sun-rising ; far-day sullies flowres. 
97 



Rise to prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glut, 
And heaven's gate opens when this world's 
is shut. 

Walk with thy fellow- creatures ; note the 

hush 
And whispers amongst them. There 's not a 

spring 
Or leafe but hath his morning hymn. Each 

bush 
And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not 

sing? 
leave thy cares and follies ! go this way, 
And thou art sure to prosper all the day. 

Serve God before the world ; let Him not go. 
Until thou hast a blessing ; then resigne 
The whole unto Him ; and remember who 
PrevaiTd by wrestling ere the sun did shine, 
Poure oyle upon the stones; weep for thy 

sin ; 
Then journey on, and have an eie to heav'n. 

Mornings are mysteries : the first world':^ 

youth, 
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud 
Shroud in their births; the crown of life, 

light, truth 
Is stird their starre, the stone, and hidden 

food. 
Three blessings wait upon them, two of 

which 
Should move: they make us holy, hjippy, 

rich. 

When the world's up, and ev'ry swami 

abroad. 
Keep thou thy temper; mix not with eacl 

clay ; 



738 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Dispatch necessities ; life bath a load 
Which must be carri'd on, and safely may. 
Yet keep those cares without thee, let the 

heart 
Be God's alone, and choose the better part. 

Through all thy actions, counsels, and dis- 
course, 
Let mildness and religion guide theft out ; 
If truth be thine, what needs a brutish force ? 
But what 's not good and just ne'er go about. 
Wrong not thy conscience for a rotten stick ; 
That gain is di-eadful which makes spirits sick. 

To God, thy countrie, and thy n*iend be true ; 
If priest and people change, keep thou thy 

ground. 
Who sels religion is a Judas Jew ; 
And, oathes once broke, the soul cannot be 

sound. 
The perjurer 's a devil let loose : what can 
Tie up his hands, that dares mock God and 

man ? 

Seek not the same steps with the crowd ; 

stick thou 
To thy sure trot ; a constant, humble mind 
Is both his own joy, and his Maker's too ; 
Let folly dust it on, or lag behind. 
A sweet self-privacy in a right soul 
Out-rans the earth, and lines the utmost pole. 

To all that seek thee bear an open heart ; 
Make not thy breast a labyrinth or trap ; 
If tryals come, this wil make good thy part. 
For honesty is safe, come what can hap ; 
ft is the good man's feast, the prince of 

flowres. 
Which thrives in storms, and smels best after 

showres. 

Seal not thy eyes up from the poor ; but give 
Proportion to their merits, and thy purse : 
Thou may'st in rags a mighty prince relieve. 
Who, when thy sins call for 't, can fence a 

curse. 
Thou shalt not lose one mite. Though waters 

stray, 
The bread we cast returns in fraughts one day. 

Spend not an hour so as to weep another, 
For tears are not thine own; if thou giv'st 
words. 



Dash not with them thy friend, nor heav'n ; 

O smother 
A viperous thought; some syllables are 

swords. 
Un bitted tongues are in their penance double : 
They shame their owners, and their hearerc 

trouble. 

Injure not modest bloud, while spirits rise 
In judgement against lewdness ; that 's base ^ 

wit, 
That voyds but filth and stench. Hast thou 

no prize 
But sickness or infection ? stifle it. 
Who makes his jest of sins, must be at least, 
If not a very devill, worse than beast. 

Yet fly no friend, if he be such indeed ; 
But meet to quench his longings and thy 

thirst ; 
Allow your joyes religion; that done, speed, , 
And bring the same man back thou wert at | 

first. 
Who so returns not, cannot pray aright, 
But shuts his door, and leaves God out «JI I 

night. * 

To heighten thy devotions, and keep low 
All mutinous thoughts, what business e'l 

thou hast. 
Observe God in His works ; here fountains 

flow. 
Birds sing, beasts feed, fish leap, and th' 

earth stands fast ; 
Above are restles motions, running lights, 
Vast circling azure, giddy clouds, days, nights. 

When seasons change, then lay before thine 

eys 
His wondrous method; mark the vaiious 

scenes 
In heav'n; hail, thunder, rainbows, bnow, 

and ice, 
Calmes, tempests, light, and darl^iic-d by Hi? 

means. 
Thou canst not misse His pi fiise ; each tree, 

herb, flowre, 
Are shadows of His wised ome and His pow'r. 

To meales when thou doest come, give Him 

the praise 
Whose arm supply'd thee; take what raaj' 

suffice, 



THE PHILOSOPHER'S DEVOTION. 



739 



And then be thankful ; admire His ways 
Who fils the world's unempty'd granaries ! 
A thankless feeder is a theif, his feast 
A very robbery, and himself no guest. 

High-noon thus past, thy time decays ; provide 
Thee other thoughts ; away with friends and 

mirth ; 
The sun now stoops, and hastes his beams to 

hide 
Under the dark and melancholy earth. 
AU but preludes thy end. Thou art the man 
Whose rise, height, and descent is but a span. 

Yet, set as he doth, and 'tis well. Have all 
Thy beams home with thee ; trim thy lamp, 

buy oyl. 
And then set forth : who is thus drest, the fall 
Furthers his glory, and gives death the foyl. 
Man is a summer^s day ; whose youth and fire 
Cool to a glorious evening, and expire. 

When night comes, list thy deeds ; make plain 

the way 
'Twixt heaven and thee ; block it not with 

delays ; 
But perfect all before thou sleep'st : then say, 
'* Ther's one sun more strung on my bead of 

days." 
W^hat's good score up for joy; the bad well 

scann'd 
Wash off with t^ars, and get thy Master's 

hand. 

Thy accounts thus made, spend in the grave 

one houre 
Before thy time ; be not a stranger there. 
Where thou may'st sleep whole ages ; life's 

poor flow'r 
Lasts not a night sometimes. Bad spirits fear 
This conversation ; but the good man lyes 
Intombed many days before he dyes. 

Being laid, and drest for sleep, close not thy 

eies 
Up with thy curtains; give thy soul the wing 
111 some good thoughts ; so when the day shall 

rise, 
And thou unrak'st thy fire, those sparks will 

bring 
N"ew flames; besides where these lodge, vain 

heats mourn 
And die ; that bush, where God is, shall not 

burn. 



When thy nap 's over, stir thy fire, unrake 
In that dead age ; one beam i' th' dark outvies 
Two in the day ; then from the damps and ake 
Of night shut up thy leaves ; be chaste : God 

prys 
Through thickest nights; though then the 

sun be far. 
Do thou the works of day, and rise a star. 

Briefly, doe as thou would'st be done unto, 
Love God, and love thy neighbour; watch, 

and pray. 
These are the words and works of life ; this do, 
And live; who doth not thus, hath lost 

heav'n's way. 
lose it not! look up, wilt change those 

lights 
For chains of darknes and eternal nights ? 
Henry Vaughan. 



THE PHILOSOPHER'S DEYOTIOISr. 

Sing aloud ! His praise rehearse, 
Who hath made the universe. 
He the boundless heavens has spread. 
All the vital orbs has kned ; 
He that on Olympus high 
Tends His flock with watchful eye ; 
And this eye has multiplied 
Midst each flock for to reside. 
Thus, as round about they stray, 
Toucheth each with outstretched ray . 
ISTimbly they hold on their way, 
Shaping out their night and day. 
JSTever slack they ; none respires, 
Dancing round their central tires. 

In dvLQ order as they move. 
Echoes sweet be gently drove 
Through heaven's vast hollowness, 
Which unto all comers press — 
Music, that the heart of Jove 
Moves to joy and sportful love. 
Fills the listening sailor's ears, 
Riding on the wandering spheres. 
Neither speech nor language is 
Wliere their voice is not transmiss. 

God 16 good, is wise, is strong — 
Witness all the creature-throng — 
Is confessed by every tongue. 
All things back from whence they sprung. 



;40 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



As the thankful rivers pay 
What they borrowed of the sea. 

Now, myself, I do resign ; 
Take me whole, I all am Thine. 
Save me, God ! from self-desire, 
Death's pit, dark hell's raging fire 
Envy, hatred, vengeance, ire ; 
Let not lust my sonl hemire. 

Quit from these. Thy praise I '11 sing. 
Loudly sweep the trembling string. 
Bear a part, O wisdom's sons, 
Freed from vain religions ! 
Lo ! from far I you salute, 
Sweetly warbling on my lute — 
India, Egypt, Araby, 
Asia, Greece, and Tartary, 
Carmel-tracts and Lebanon, 
With the Mountains of the Moon, 
From whence muddy Xile doth run ; 
Or, wherever else you won, 
Breathing in one vital air — 
One wo are though distant far. 

Rise at once — let 's sacrifice 1 
Odors sweet perfume the skies. 
See how heavenly lightning fires 
Hearts inflamed with high aspires ; 
All the substance of our souls 
Up in clouds of incense rolls! 
Leave we nothing to ourselves 
Save a voice — what need we else? 
Or a hand to wear and tire 
On the thankful lute or lyre. 

Sing aloud ! His praise rehearse 
Who hath made the universe. 

Henry Mose. 



THE SPIRIT-LAISTD. 

Fathee ! Thy wonders do not singly stand, 
N'or far removed where feet have seldom 

strayed ; 
Around us ever lies the enchanted land. 
In marvels rich to Thine own sons displayed ; 
En finding Thee are all things round us found; 
In losing Thee are all things lost beside ; 
Ears have we, but in vain strange voices 

sound ; 
And to our eyes the vision is denied ; 
We wander in the country far remote. 



Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell ; 
Or on the records of past greatness dote, 
And for a buried soul the living sell ; 
While on our path bewildered falls the night 
That ne'er returns us to the fields of light. 

Jones v by. 



THE ELDER SCRIPTURE. 
Theee is a book, who runs may read, 

Which heavenly truth imparts, 
And aU the lore its scholars need — 

Pure eyes and loving hearts. 

The works of God, above, below, 

Within us, and around. 
Are pages in that book, to show 

How God himself is found. 

The glorious sky, embracing all, 

Is like the Father's love ; 
Wherewith encompassed, great and small 

In peace and order move. 

The dew of heaven is hke His grace : 

It steals in silence down ; 
But where it lights, the favored plaoo 

By richest fruits is known. 

Two worlds are ours : 'tis only sin 

Forbids us to descry 
The mystic heaven and earth within, 

Plain as the earth and sky. 

Thou who hast given me eyes to sco 

And love this sight so fair. 
Give me a heart to find out Thee 

And read Thee every where. 

John Keblb. 



FOR :tTEW-YEAR'S DAY. 

Eteenal source of every joy ! 

Well may Thy praise our lips employ, 

While in Thy temple we appear 

Whose goodness crowns the circling year. 

While as the wheels of nature roll, 
Thy hand supports the steady pole ; 
The sun is taught by Thee to rise, 
And darkness when to veil the skies. 

The flowery spring at Thy command 
Embalms the air, and paints the land ; 
The summer rays with vigor shine 
To raise the corn, and cheer the vine. 



1 



AN ODE. 



74i 



Thy hand in autumn richly pours 
Through all our coasts redundant stores • 
And winters, softened by Thy care, 
Ko more a face of liorror wear. 



Seasons, and months, and weeks, and days 
Demand successive songs of praise ; 
Still be the cheerful homage paid 
With opening light and evening shade. 

Here in Thy house shall incense rise, 
As circling Sabbaths bless our eyes ; 
Still will we make Thy mercies known. 
Around Thy board, and round our own. 

Oh may our more harmonious tongues 
In worlds unknown pursue the songs ; 
And in those brighter courts adore 
Where days and years revolve no more. 

Philip Doddridge. 



MARK THE SOFT-FALLING SISTOW." 

Maek the soft-falling snow, 
And the diffusive rain : 
To heaven from whence it fell, 
It turns not back again, 

But waters earth 

Through every pore, 

And calls forth all 

Its secret store. 

Arrayed in beauteous green 
The hills and valleys shine. 
And man and beast is fed 
By Providence divine ; 

The harvest bows 

Its golden ears, 

The copious seed 

Of future years. 

'* So," saith tJie God of grace, 
" My gospel shall descend — 
Almighty to effect 
The purpose I intend : 



Millions of souls 
Shall feel its power, 
And bear it down 
To millions more. 

"Joy shall begin your march, 
And peace protect your ways, 
While all the mountains round 
Echo melodious praise ; 

The vocal groves 

Shall sing the God, 

And every tree 

Consenting nod." 

Philip DoDnEiDGE. 



A'N ODE. 

The spacious firmament on high, 

With all the blue ethereal sky. 

And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 

Their great original proclaim. 

The unwearied sun, from day to day. 

Does his creator's power display. 

And publishes to every land 

The work of an almiglity hand. 

Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
And nightly, to the listening earth, 
Repeats the story of her birth ; 
Whilst all the stars that round her burn. 
And all the planets in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roll. 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

What though, in solemn silence, all 
Move round the dark, terrestrial ball ? 
What though nor real voice nor sound 
Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 
In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
And utter forth a glorious voice. 
Forever singing as tliey shine 
" Tlie liand that made us is divine! " 

J06EPH Addison. 



M2 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Father! by Thy love and power 
Comes again the evening hour : 
Light has vanished, labors cease, 
Weary creatures rest in peace. 
Thou, whose genial dews distil 

On the lowliest weed that grows, 
Father ! guard our couch from ill, 

Lull Thy children to repose. 
We to Thee ourselves resign, 
Let our latest thoudits be Thine. 



Saviour ! to Thy Father bear 
This our feeble evening prayer ; 
Thou hast seen how oft to-day 
We, like sheep, have gone astray : 
Worldly thoughts, and thoughts of pride, 

Wishes to Thy cross untrue, 
Secret faults, and undescried. 

Meet Thy spirit-piercing view, 
Blessed Saviour 1 yet through Thee 
Pray that these may pardoned be. 

Holy Spirit! breath of balm ! 
Fall on us in evening's calm : 
Yet awhile before we sleep 
We with Thee will vigils keep ; 
Lead us on our sins to muse, 

Give us truest penitence. 
Then the love of God infuse. 

Breathing humble confidence : 
Melt our spirits, mould our will. 
Soften, strengthen, comfort still ! 

Blessed Trinity ! be near 

Through the hours of darkness drear ; 

When the help of man is far. 

Ye more clearly present are : 

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 

Watch o'er our defenceless head, 
Let your angels' guardian host, 

Keep all evil from our bed, 
Till the flood of morning's rays 
Wake us to r. iiong of praise. 

Anonymous. 



IN A CLEAE STAKRY NIGHT. 

A HYMN AND PEAYEE FOR THE TSK OF 
BELIEVEES. 

LoED ! when those glorious lights I see 
With which Thou hast adorned the skies, 
Observing how they moved be, 
And how their splendor fills mine eyes, 

Methinks it is too large a grace, 
But that Thy love ordained it so — 
That creatures in so high a place 
Should servants be to man below 



The meanest lamp now shining there 
In size and lustre doth exceed 
The noblest of Thy creatures here. 
And of our friendship hath no need. 

Y^'et these upon mankind attend. 
For secret aid, or public light ; 
And from the world's extremest en 
Repair unto us every night. 



Oh ! had that stamp been undefaced 
Which first on us Thy hand had set, 
How highly should we have been graced, 
Since we are so much honored yet. 

Good God, for what but for the sake 
Of Thy beloved and only Son, 
Who did on Him our nature take. 
Were these exceeding favors done ! 



As we by Him have honored been, 
Let us to Him due honors give ; 
Let His uprightness hide our sin. 
And let us worth from Him receive. 

Yea, so let us by grace improve 
What Thou by nature doth bestow. 
That to Thy dwelling-place above 
We may be raised from below. 

Gbosge WimBU 



ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. 



748 



fN THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NA- 
TIVITY. 



Phis is the month, and this the happy morn, 
Wherein the Son of heaven's eternal king. 
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born. 
Our great redemption from above did bring — 
For so the holy sages once did sing — 

That He our deadly forfeit should release, 
And with His Father work us a perpetual 
peace. 



That glorious form, that light unsufferable. 
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty 
Wherewith He Avont at heaven's high council- 
table 
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, 
He laid aside ; and here with us to be 

Forsook the courts of everlasting day, 
And chose with us a darksome house of mor- 
tal clay. 

III. 
{Say, heavenly muse! shall not thy sacred 

vein 
Afford a present to the infant God? 
Ilast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn 

strain. 
To welcome Him to this His new abode — 
Now while the heaven, by the sun's team 

untrod, 
Hath took no print of the approaching 

light. 
And all the spangled host keep watch in 

squadrons bright? 

IV. 

See how from far upon the eastern road 
The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet I 
Oh ! run prevent them with thy humble ode, 
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; 
flave thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, 

And join thy voice unto the angel choir, 
From out His secret altar touched with hal- 
lowed fire. 



THE HYMN. 
I. 

It was the winter wild 
While the heaven-born child 

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger 
lies — 
Nature, in awe to Him, 
Had doffed her gaudy trim, 

With her great master so to sympathize ; 
It was no season then for her 
To wanton with the sun, her lusty para- 
mour. 

n. 

Only with speeches fair 
She woos the gentle air 

To hide her guilty front with innocent 
snow. 
And on her naked shame, 
Pollute with sinful blame. 

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw — 
Confounded that her maker's eyes 
Should look so near upon her foul defonni- 
ties. 

ni. 
But He, her fears to cease. 
Sent down the meek-eyed peace ; 
She, crowned with olive green, came softly 
sliding 
Down through the turning sphere, 
His ready harbinger. 

With turtle wing the amorous clouds divid- 
ing; 
And waving wide her myrtle wand, 
She strikes a universal peace through sea 
and land. 

IV. 

Nor war, or battle's sound, 
Was heard the Avorld around — 
The idle spear and shield were high up 

hung; 
The hooked chariot stood 
Unstained with hostile blood ; 

The trumpet spake not to the armod 

throng ; 
And kings sat still with awful eye. 
As if they surely know thoir sovoroi-ru Lord 

was by. 



744 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



V. 

But peaceful was the night 
Wherein the prince of light 

His reign of peace upon the earth began ; 
The winds, with wonder whist, 
Smoothly the waters kissed. 

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, 
Who now hath quite forgot to rave. 
While birds of calm sit brooding on the 
charmed wave. 

VI. 

The stars with deep amaze 
Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, 

Bending one way their precious influence ; 
And will not take their flight 
For all the morning light, 

Or Lucifer that often warned them thence ; 
But in their glimmering orbs did glow 
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid 
them go. 

VII. 

And though the shady gloom 
Had given day her room. 
The sun himself withheld his wonted 

speed, 
And hid his head for shame, 
As his inferior flame 
The new-enlightened world no more should 

need; 
He saw a greater sun appear 
Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree 

could bear. 

VIII. 

The shepherds on the lawn, 
Or e'er the point of dawn, 

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row ; 
Full little thought they then 
That the mighty Pan 

Was kindly come to live with them below ; 
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, 
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy 
keep. 

IX. 

When such music sweet 
Their hearts and ears did greet 

As never was by mortal finger strook — 
Divinely-warbled voice 



Answering the stringed noise, 

As all their souls in blissful rapture took ; 
The air, such pleasure loath to lose, 
With thousand echoes still prolongs each 
heavenly close. 

X. 

l^ature, that heard such sound 
Beneath the hollow round 

Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, 
E'ow was almost won 
To think her part was done. 

And that her reign had here its last ful- 
filling ; 
She knew such harmony alone 
Could hold all heaven and earth in happier 
union. 

XI. 

At last surrounds their sight 
A globe of circular light. 
That with long beams the shamefaced night 
arrayed ; 
The helmed cherubim 
And sworded seraphim 

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings 
displayed, 
Harping in loud and solemn choir, 
With unexpressive notes, to heaven^is new 
born heir — 

XII. 

Such music (as 't is said) 
Before was never made, 

But when of old the sons of morning sung, 
While the Creator great 
His constellations set. 

And the well-balanced world on hinges 
hung. 
And cast the dark foundations deep. 
And bid the weltering waves their oozy 
channel keep. 

XIII. 

Ring out, ye crystal spheres I 
Once bless our human ears. 

If ye have power to touch our senses so ; 
And let your silver chime 
Move in melodious time. 

And let the bass of heaven's deep orgat 
blow; 






ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. 



746 



And with your ninefold harmony 
Make up full consort to the angelic sym- 
phony. 

XIV. 

For if such holy song 
In wrap our fancy long, 
Time will run back, and fetch the age of 

gold; 
And speckled vanity 
Will sicken soon and die, 
And leprous sin will melt from earthly 

mould ; 
And hell itself will pass away, 
And leave her dolorous mansions to the 

peering day. 

XV. 

Yea, truth and justice then 
Will down return to men, 

Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories 

wearing, 
Mercy will sit between. 
Throned in celestial sheen, 
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down 

steering ; 
And heaven, as at some festival. 
Will open wide the gates of her high palace 

hall. 



Bat wisest fate says !N"o — 
This must not yet be so ; 

The babe yet lies in smiling infancy 
•That on the bitter cross 
Must redeem our loss. 

So both Himself and us to glorify. 
Yet first to those ye chained in sleep 
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder 
through the deep, 

XVII. 

With such a horrid clang 
As on Mount Sinai rang. 

While the red fire and smouldering clouds 
out-brake ; 
The aged eartli, aghast 
With terror of that blast, 

Shall from the surface to the centre shake — 
When, at the world's last session. 
The dreadful judge in middle air shall spread 
his throne. 



XVIII. 

And then at last our bliss 
Full and perfect is — 

But now begins ; for from this happy da} 
The old dragon, under ground 
In straiter limits bound, 

ISTot half so far casts his usurped sway. 
And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, 
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 



The oracles are dumb ; 
1^0 voice or hideous hum 

Kuns through the arched roof in words 
deceiving ; 
Apollo from his shrine 
Can no more divine, 
AYith hollow shriek the steep of Delphoa 
leaving ; 
^0 nightly trance, or breathed spell. 
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the pro- 
phetic cell. 

XX. 

The lonely mountains o'er. 
And the resounding shore, 

A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; 
From haunted spring, and dale 
Edged with poplar pale, 

The parting genius is with sighing sent ; 
With fiower-inwoven tresses torn 
The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled 
thickets mourn. 



In consecrated earth, 
And on the holy hearth. 
The lars and lemures moan with midnight 
plaint ; 
In urns and altars round 
A drear and dying sound 

Aftrights the flamons at tlieh* service 
quaint ; 
And the chill marble seems to swoar, 
While each peculiar power foregoes his 
wonted seat. 



Peor and Baalim 
Forsake their temples dim, 
With that twice-battered god of Palestine ; 



?4G 



POEMS OF KELIGION. 



And mooned Aslitaroth, 
Heaven's queen and mother both, 

ISTow sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; 
The Ljbic Hammon shrinks his horn — 
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded 
Thammuz mourn. 

xxni. 
And sullen Moloch fled, 
Hath left in shadows dread 

His burning idol all of blackest hue ; 
In vain, with cymbals' ring, 
They call the grisly king. 

In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; 
The brutish gods of Nile as fast — 
Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis — haste, 

XXIV. 

Nor is Osiris seen 

In Memphian grove or green, 
Trampling the unsliowered grass with 
lowings loud ; 

Nor can he be at rest 

Within his sacred chest — 

Nought but profoundest hell can be his 
shroud ; 

In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark, 

The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his wor- 
shipped ark. 

XXV. 

He feels from Juda's land 
The dreaded infant's hand — 

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; 
Nor all the gods beside 
Longer dare abide — 

Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine ; 
Our babe, to show His God-head true, 
Can iji His swaddling bands control the 
damned crew. 

XXVI. 

So, when the sun in bed, 
Curtained with cloudy red, 

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave. 
The flocking shadows pale 
Troop to the infernal jail — 

Each fettered ghost slips to his several 
gi-ave ; 



And the yeUow-skirted fays 
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their 
moon-loved maze. 

XXVII. 

But see the virgin blest 
Hath laid her babe to rest — 
Time is our tedious song should here have 
ending ; 
Heaven's youngest teemed star 
Hath fixed her polished car. 

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp 
attending ; 
And aU about the courtly stable 
Bright-harnessed angels sit in order service- 
able. 

John Milton 



EPIPHANY. 

Beightest and best of the sons of the morn- 
ing, 
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine 
aid! 
Star of the east, the horizon adorning. 

Guide where our infant Eedeemer is laid! I 

Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining; 

Low lies His bed with the beasts of thr 
stall ; 
Angels adore Him in slumber reclining — 

Maker, and monarch, and Saviour of all. 

Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion. 

Odors of Edom, and offerings divine — 
Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the 
ocean — 
Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the 
mine? 

Yainly we offer each ample oblation, 
Vainly with gold would His favor secure ; 

Kichcr by far is the heart's adoration. 

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. 

Brightest and best of the sons of tne morning, 
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine 
aid! 
Star of the east, the horizon adorning. 
Guide where our infant Eedeemer is laid! 
Eeginald Hbbkk 



MESSIAH. 



74 7 



» 



MESSIAH. 



Ye nymphs of Soljma ! begin the song — 
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong. 
The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades, 
The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian maids, 
Delight no more — thou my voice inspire 
Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire ! 

Rapt into future times the bard begun : 
A virgin shaU conceive — a virgin bear a son ! 
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise 
Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the 

skies ! 
The ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move, 
And on its top descends the mystic dove. 
Ye heavens ! from high the dewy nectar pour, 
And in soft silence shed the kindly shower I 
The sick and weak the healing plant shall 

aid^ — 
From storm a shelter, and from heat a shade. 
All crimes shall cease, and ancient frauds 

shall fail ; 
Returning justice lift aloft her scale, 
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend. 
And white-robed innocence from heaven de- 
scend. 
Swift fly the years, and rise the expected 

morn ! 
Oh spring to light ! auspicious babe, be born ! 
See, nature hastes her earliest wreaths to 

bring, 
With all the incense of the breathing spring ! 
See lofty Lebanon his head advance ; 
See nodding forests on the mountains dance ; 
See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise, 
And Carmel's flowery top perfumes the skies! 
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers: 
Prepare the way I a God, a God appears ! 
A God, a God! the vocal hills reply — 
The rocks proclaim the approaching deity. 
Lo, earth receives Him from the bending 

skies I 
Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys, 

rise! 
Wi^h heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay! 
Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give 

way! 
The Saviour comes ! by ancient bards fore- 
told— 
Hear Him ye deaf; and all ye blind, behold ! 



He from thick films shall purge the visua] 

And on the sightless eyebaU pour the day ; 
'T is He the obstructed paths of sound shall 

clear. 
And bid new music charm the unfolding ear ; 
The dumb shall sing ; the lame his crutch 

forego, 
And leap exulting like the bounding roe. 
No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall 

hear — 
From every face He wipes ofl[' every tear. 
In adamantine chains shall death be bound, 
And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound. 
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care. 
Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air, 
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep di- 
rects, 
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects; 
The tender lambs He raises in His arms — 
Feeds from His hand, and in His bosom 

warms : 
Thus shall mankind His guardian care en- 
gage— 
The promised father of the future age. 
No more shall nation against nation rise, 
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes ; 
Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er, 
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more ; 
But useless lances into scythes shall bend, 
And the broad falchion in a plough-share end. 
Then palaces shall rise ; the joyful son 
Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun ; 
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield, 
And the same hand that sowed shall reap the 

field; 
The swain in barren deserts with surprise 
Sees lilies spring and sudden verdure rise ; 
And starts, amidst the thirsty wilds, to hear 
New falls of water murmuring in his ear. 
On rifted /ocks, the dragon's late abodes, 
The green reed trembles, and the bulrush 

nods ; 
Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed will) 

thorn, 
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn ; 
To leafless shrubs the flowery palms succeed, 
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed ; 
Tlie lambs with wolves shall graze the ver- 
dant mead, 
And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead ; 



M8 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



The steer and lion at one crib shall meet, 
And harmless serpents liok the pilgrim's 

feet. 
The smiling infant in his hand shall take 
The crested basihsk and speckled snake — 
Pleased, the green lustre of the scales survey, 
And with their forked tongue shall innocent- 
ly play. 
Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, 

rise ! 
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thine eyes! 
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn ; 
See future sons and daughters, yet unborn, 
In crowding ranks on every side arise, 
Demanding life, impatient for the skies ! 
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend. 
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend; 
See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate 

kings. 
And heaped with products of Sabean springs ! 
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow, 
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains 

glow. 
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display, 
And break upon thee in a flood of day ! 
Xo more the rising sun shall gild the morn, 
i^or evening Cynthia fill her silver horn; 
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays. 
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze, 
O'erflow thy courts ; the Light Himself shall 

shine 
Revealed, and God's eternal day be thme! 
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke de- 
cay, 
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; 
But fixed His word. His saving power re- 
mains ; 
Thy reahn for ever lasts, thy own Messiah 
reigns ! 

Albxandee Pope. 



TWELFTH DAY, OR THE EPIPHANY. 

That so Thy blessed birth, Christ, 
Might through the world be spread about. 
Thy star appeared in the east. 
Whereby the Gentiles found Thee out; 
And ofiering Thee myrrh, incense, gold. 
Thy three-fold office did unfold. 



Sweet Jesus, let that star of Thine 

Thy grace, which guides to find out Thee- 
Within our hearts for ever shine. 
That Thou of us found out mayst be; 
And Thou shalt be our king therefore. 
Our priest and prophet evermore. 

Tears that from true repentance drop, 
Instead of myrrh, present will we; 
For incense we will offer up 
Our prayers and praises unto Thee; 
And bring for gold each pious deed 
Which doth from saving grace proceed 

ind as those '/vise men never went 
To visit Herod any more ; 
So, finding Thee, we wiU repent 
Our courses followed heretofore ; 
And that we homeward may retire, 
The way by Thee we will inquire. 

George Witheb. 



LIIsTES 



ON- THE CELEBRATED PICTUEE BY LEONAEDO D^ 
YIXCI, CALLED THE YIEGIN OF THE E00K8. 

While young John runs to greet 

The greater infant's feet, 

The mother standing by, with trembling 

passion 
Of devout admiration, 
Beholds the engaging mystic play, and 

pretty adoration; 
E'er knows as yet the full event 
Of those so low beginnings 
From whence we date our winnings, 
But wonders at the intent 
Of those new rites, and what that strange 

child-worship meant. 
But at her side 
An angel doth abide, 
With such a perfect joy 
As no dim doubts alloy— 
An intuition, 
A glory, an amenity, 
Passing the dark condition 
Of blind humanity, 
As if he surely knew 
AH the blest wonders should msue, 



THE REIGN OF CHRIST ON EARTH. 



749 



Or he had lately left the upper sphere, 
And had read all the sovereign schemes 
and divine riddles there. 

Charles Lamb. 



VHE REIGIN" OF CUBIST ON EARTH. 

Hail to the Lord's anointed — 

Great David's greater Son ! 
Hail, in the time appointed, 

His reign on earth begun ! 
He comes to break oppression, 

To set the captive free. 
To take away transgression, 

And rule in equity. 

He comes with succor speedy 

To those who suffer wrong ; 
To help the poor and needy, 

And bid the weak be strong ; 
To give them songs for sighing. 

Their darkness turn to light. 
Whose souls, condemned and dying, 

Were precious in His sight. 

By such shall He be feared 

While sun and moon endure — 
Beloved, obeyed, revered; 

For He shall judge the poor, 
Through changing generations. 

With justice, mercy, truth, 
While stars maintain their stations 

Or moons renew their youth. 

He shall come down like showers 

Upon the fruitful earth, 
And love, joy, hope, like flowers, 

Spring in His path to birth ; 
Before Him, on the mountains, 

Shall peace, the herald, go. 
And righteousness, in fountains. 

From hill to valley flow. 

Arabia's desert-ranger 

To Him shall bow the knee. 
The Ethiopian stranger 

His glory come to see; 
With otFerings of devotion 

Ships from the isles shall meet, 
To pour the wealth of ocean 

In tribute at His feet 



Kings shall fall down before Him, 

And gold and incense bring ; 
All nations shall adore Him, 

His praise all people sing; 
For He shall have dominion 

O'er river, sea, and shore. 
Far as the eagle's jnuion 

Or dove's light wing can soar. 

For Him shall prayer unceasing, 

And daily vows, ascend — 
His kingdom still increasing, 

A kingdom without end ; 
The mountain dews shall nourish 

A seed in weakness sowm. 
Whose fruit shall spread and flourifih, 

And shake like Lebanon. 

O'er every foe victorious, 

He on His throne shall rest. 
From age to age more glorious, 

All-blessing and all- blest ; 
The tide of time shall never 

His covenant remove ; 
His name shall stand for ever ; 

That name to us is — love. 

James MoNTOOMEiiV. 



^' JESUS SHALL REIGN." 

Jesus shall reign w^here'er the sun 
Does his successive journeys run,— 
His kingdom spread from shore to shore, 
Till moons shall wax and wane no more. 

From north to south the princes meet- 
To pay their homage at His feet. 
While western empires own their Lord, 
And savage tribes attend His word. 

To Him shall endless prayer be made, 
And endless praises crown His head ; 
His name like sweet perfume shall rise 
With every morning sacrifice. 

People and realms of every tongue 
Dwell on His love with sweetest song, 
And infant voices shall proclaim 
Their early blessings on His name. 

Isaac "^'attr 



750 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



PASSION SUISTDAY. 

The royal banners forward go : 
The cross shines forth in mystic giow ; 
Where He in flesh, our flesh who made, 
Our sentence bore, our ransom paid — 

"Where deep for us the spear was dyed, 
Life's torrent rushing from His side, 
To wash us in that precious flood 
Where mingled water flowed and blood. 

Fulfilled is aU that David told 

In true prophetic song of old : 

Amidst the nations, God, saith he. 

Hath reigned and triumphed from the tree. 

tree of beauty, tree of light ! 
tree with royal purple dight ! 
Elect on whose triumphal breast 
Those holy limbs should find their rest^ 

On whose dear arms, so widely flung, 
The weight of this world's ransom hung — 
The price of human kind to pay, 
And spoil the spoiler of his prey. 

To Thee, eternal three in one, 
Let homage meet by all be done, 
Whom by the cross Thou dost restore. 
Preserve and govern evermore. Amen. 

Yexantius F.^rtunattj?. (Latin.) 
I nonjnnous Translation. 



GETHSEMANE. 

Jesus, while He dwelt below, 
As divine historians say, 

To a place would often go — 
Kear to Kedron's brook it lay 

In this place He loved to be. 

And 't was named Gethsemane. 

*T was a garden, as we read, 

At the foot of Olivet — 
Low, and proper to be made 

The Redeemer's lone retreat ; 
When from noise he would be free, 
Then He sought Gethsemane, 



Thither, by their Master brought, 

His disciples likewise came ; 
There the heavenly truths He taught 

Often set their hearts on flame ; 
Therefore they, as well as He, 
Visited Gethsemane. 

Oft conversing here they sat. 
Or might join with Christ in prayer ; 

Oh ! what blest devotion that. 
When the Lord Himself is there ! 

Ail things thus did there agree 

To endear Gethsemane. 

Full of love to man's lost race, 
On the conflict much He thought ; 

This He knew the destined place, 
And He loved the sacred spot ; 

Therefore Jesus chose to be 

Often in Gethsemane. 

Came at length the dreadful night ; 

Vengeance with its iron rod. 
Stood, and with collected might 

Bruised the harmless Lamb of God ; 
See, my soul, thy Saviour see. 
Prostrate in Gethsemane ! 

View Him in that olive press. 

Wrung with anguish, whelmed with 
blood — 
Hear Him pray in His distress. 

With strong cries and tears, to God : 
Then reflect what sin must be, 
Gazing on Gethsemane. 



Gloomy garden, on thy beds, 
Washed by Kedron's water pool. 

Grow most rank and bitter weeds ! 
Think on these, my soul, my soul ! 

Wouldst thou sin's dominion see — 

Call to mind Gethsemane. 



a 



Eden, from each flowery bed, 

Did for man short sweetness breathe ; 
Soon, by Satan's counsel led, 

Man wrought sin, and sin wrought death 
But of life the healing tree 
Grows in rich Gethsemane, 



WEEPING MARY. 



751 



Hither, Lord, Thou didst resort 
Ofttimes with Thy little train ; 

Here wouldst keep Thy private court — 
Oh ! confer that grace again ; 

Lord, resort with worthless me, 

Ofttimes to Gethsemane. 

True, I can't deserve to share 

In a favor so divine ; 
But since sin first fixed Thee there, 

N"one have greater sins than mine ; 
And to this my woeful plea 
Witness thou, Gethsemane ! 

Sins against a holy God, 

Sins against His righteous laws, 

Sins against His love, His blood. 
Sins against His name and cause. 

Sins immense as is the sea — 

Hide me, Gethsemane ! 

Saviour, all the stone remove 
From my flinty, frozen heart ! 

Thaw it with the beams of love, 
Pierce it with Thy mercy's dart ! 

Wound the heart tliat wounded Thee ! 

Break it, in Gethsemane! 

Joseph Haet. 



GETHSEMANE. 

Go to dark Gethsemane, 

Ye that feel the tempter's power ; 
Your Eedeemer's conflict see. 

Watch with Him one bitter hour ; 
Turn not from his griefs away — 
Learn of Jesus Christ to pray ! 

Follow to the judgment-hall — 
View the Lord of life arraigned ! 

Oh the wormwood and the gall ! 
Oh the pangs his soul sustained ! 

Shun not suffering, shame, or loss — 

Learn of Him to bear the cross ! 

Calvary's mournful mountain climb ; 

There, adoring at His feet, 
Mark that miracle of time — 

Gods own sacrifice complete ! 



"It is finished ! " — ^hear the cry- 
Learn of Jesus Christ to die. 

Early hasten to the tomb 

Where they laid His breathless clay - 
All is solitude and gloom ; 

Who hath taken Him away ? 
Christ is risen ! — he meets our eyes ! 
Saviour, teach us so to rise ! 

James Mo^^tgomeby, 



WEEPING MARY. 

Makt to her Saviour's tomb 

Hasted at the early dawn ; 
Spice she brought, and rich perfume — 

But the Lord she loved was gone. 
For a while she weeping stood. 

Struck with sorrow, and surprise, 
Shedding tears, a plenteous flood — 

For her heart supplied her eyes. 

Jesus, who is always near. 

Though too often unperceived. 
Comes his drooping child to cheer, 

Kindly asking why she grieved. 
Though at first she knew him not — 

When He called her by her name. 
Then her griefs were all forgot. 

For she found He was the same. 

Grief and sighing quickly fied 

When she heard His welcome voice • 
Just before she thought Him dead, 

Now He bids her heart rejoice. 
What a change His word can make, 

Turning darkness into day ! 
You who weep for Jesus' sake. 

He will wipe your tears away. 

He who came to comfort her 

When she thouglit her all was lost, 
Will for your relief appear. 

Though you now are tempest-tossed 
On His word your burden cast, 

On 11 is love your tlioughts employ ; 
Weeping for a while may last, 

But the morning brings the joy. 

John Nbwtok 



762 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



AN EASTER HYMN. 

Awake, thou wintry earth — 

Fling off thy sadness ! 
Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth 

Your ancient gladness ! 
Christ is risen ! 

Wave, woods, your hlossoms all — 

Grim death is dead ! 
Ye weeping funeral trees, 

Lift up your head I 

Christ is risen ! 

Come, see ! the graves are green ; 

It is light ; let 's go 
Where our loved ones rest 

In hope below ! 

Christ is risen ! 

AU is fresh and new, 

Full of spring and light ; 
Wintry heart, why wear'st the hue 

Of sleep and night ? 
Christ is risen ! 

Leave thy cares beneath. 

Leave thy worldly love ! 
Begin the better life 
With God above ! 

Christ is risen ! 

Thomas Blackbuen. 



EASTER. 

Rise, heart! thy Lord is rieen. Sing His 
praise 

Without delays 
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou like- 
wise 

With Him mayst rise — 
That, as His death calcined thee to dust, 
His life may make thee gold, and much more 
just 

Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part 
With all thy art! 

The cross taught all wood to resound His name 
Who bore the same ; 

His stretched sinews taught all strings what 
key 

Is best to celebrate this most high day. 



Consort both harp and lute, and twist a song 
Pleasant and long ! 

Or since all music is but three parts ried 
And multiphed. 

Oh let thy blessed Spirit bear a part, 

And make up our defects with His sweet art 

I got me flowers to strew thy way — 
I got me boughs off many a tree ; 
But thou wast up by break of day, 
And broughtst thy sweets along with theo. 

The sun arising in the east, 

Though he give light, and th' east perfume. 

If they should offer to contest 

With Thy arising, they presume. 

Can there be any day but this. 
Though many suns to shine endeavor ? 
We count three hundred, but we miss — 
There is but one, and that one ever. 

Geoege Hebbite-e, 



HYMIS^ 



Feom my lips in their defilement. 
From my heart in its beguilement. 
From my tongue which speaks not fair, 
From my soul stained everywhere — 
O my Jesus, take my prayer ! 

Spurn me not, for aU it says, — 
Not for words, and not for ways,— 
Not for shamelessness endured ! 
Make me brave to speak my mood, 

my Jesus, as I would ! 

Or teach me, which I rather seek, 
What to do and what to speak. 

1 have sinned more than she 

Who, learning where to meet with Tbe^ 
And bringing myrrh the highest priced, 
Anointed bravely, from her knee, 
Thy blessed feet accordingly — 
My God, my Lord, my Christ ! 
As thou saidest not '^ Depart," 
To that suppliant from her heart, 
Scorn me not, Word, that art 



I JOURNEY THROUGH A DESERT DREAR AND WILD. 



753 



The gentlest one of all words said ! 
But give Thy feet to me instead, 
That tenderly I may them kiss, 
And clasp them close, and never miss, 
With over-dropping tears, as free 
And precious as that myrrh could be, 
T' anoint them bravely from my knee ! 

Wash me with Thy tears ! draw nigh me. 

That their salt may purify me ! 

Thou remit my sins who knowest 

All the sinning, to the lowest — 

Knowest all my wounds, and seest 

All the stripes Thyself decreest ; 

Yea, but knowest all my faith — 

Seest all my force to death, — 

Hearest all my wailings low 

That mine evil should be so ! 

Nothing hidden but appears 

In Thy knowledge, Divine, 

O Creator, Saviour mine ! — 

Not a drop of falling tears, 

Not a breath of inward moan, 

Not a heart-beat — which is gone ! 

St. Joannes Damascenits. (Greek.) 
Translation of E. B. Browning. 



MY GOD, I LOVE THEE. 

My God, I love Thee ! not because 
I hope for heaven thereby ; 

Nor because those who love Thee not 
Must burn eternally. 

Thou, my Jesus, Thou didst me 

Upon the cross embrace ! 
For me didst bear the nails and spear, 

And manifold disgrace. 

And griefs and torments numberless, 

And sweat of agony. 
Yea, death itself — and all for one 

That was Thine enemy. 

Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ, 
Should I not love Thee well ? 

Not for the hope of winning heaven, 
Nor of escaping hell I 
99 



Not with the hope of gaining aught, 

Not seeking a reward ; 
But as Thyself hast loved me, 

O everlasting Lord ! 

E'en so I love Thee, and will love, 
And in Thy praise will sing — 

Solely because thou art my God, 

And my eternal king. 

St. Fkancis Xavier. (Latin.) 
Translation of Edwaed Caswell. 



"I JOURNEY THROUGH A DESERT 
DREAR AND WILD." 

I JOTIRXEY through a desert drear and wild. 

Yet is my heart by such sweet thoughts be- 
guiled 

Of Him on whom I lean, my strength, my 
stay, 

I can forget the sorrows of the way. 

Thoughts of His love — the root of every grace, 

Which finds in this poor heart a dwelling- 
place ; 

The sunshine of my soul, than day more 
bright, 

And my calm pillow of repose by night. 

Thoughts of His sojourn in this vale of tears — 
The tale of love unfolded in those years 
Of sinless suffering, and patient grace, 
I love again and yet again to trace. 

Thoughts of His glory— on the cross I gaze, 
And there behold its sad, yet healing rays ; 
Beacon of hope, which lifted up on high, 
Illumes with heavenly light the tear-dimmed 
eye. 

Thoughts of Ilis coming — for that joyful day 
In patient hope I watch, and wait, and pray ; 
The dawn draws nigh, the midnight shadowe 

flee, 
Oh ! what a sunrise will that advent be I 

Thus while I journey on, my Lord to meet, 
My thoughts and meditations are so sweet, 
Of Him on whom I lean, my strength, my 

stay, 
I can forget the sorrows of the way. 

Anontmoua 



754 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



WEESTLIISTG JACOB. 

FIKST PAET. 

Come, Thou traveller unknown, 
Whom still I hold, but cannot see ; 

My company before is gone, 
And I am left alone with Thee ; 

With Thee all night I mean to stay. 

And wrestle till the break of day. 

I need not tell Thee who I am ; 

My sin and misery declare ; 
Thyself hast called me by my name ; 

Look on Thy hands, and read it there ; 
But who, I ask Thee, who art Thou? 
Tell me Thy name, and tell me now. 

In vain Thou strugglest to get free ; 

I never will unloose my hold ; 
Art Thou the man that died for me? 

The secret of Thy love unfold ; 
Wrestling, I will not let Thee go. 
Till I Thy name, Thy nature know. 

Wilt Thou not yet to me reveal 

Thy new, unutterable name ? 
Tell me, I still beseech Thee, tell ; 

To know it now resolved I am ; 
"Wrestling, I will not let Thee go. 
Till I Thy name, Thy nature know. 

What though my shrinking flesh complain 
And murmur to contend so long ; 

I rise superior to my pain ; 
When I am weak, then am I strong ! 

And when my all of strength shall fail, 

[ shall with the God-man prevail. 



SECOND PART. 

Yield to me now, for I am weak, 

But confident in self-despair; 
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak ; 

Be conquered by my instant prayer ; 
Speak, or Thou never hence shalt move. 
And tell me if Thy name be Love. 

'T is love ! 't is love ! Thou diedst for me ; 

I hear Thy whisper in my heart ; 
llie morning breaks, the shadows flee ; 

Pure, universal love Thou art ; 



To me, to all, Thy bowels move, 
Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

My prayer hath power with God ; the gracf 

Unspeakable I now receive ; 
Through faith I see Thee face to face ; 

I see Thee face to face and live ! 
In vain I have not wept and strove ; 
Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

I know Thee, Saviour, who Thou aii, 
Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend ; 

ISTor wilt Thou with the night depart, 
But stay and love me to the end ; 

Thy mercies never shall remove ; 

Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

The sun of righteousness on me 
Hath rose, with healing in his wings ; 

Withered my nature's strength ; from Thee 
My soul its life and succor brings ; 

My help is all laid up above ; 

Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

Contented now upon my thigh 
I halt, till hfe's short journey end ; 

All helplessness, all weakness, I 
On Thee alone for strength depend; 

Nor have I power from Thee to move ; 

Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

I 

Lame as I am, I take the prey; ' 

Hell, earth, and sin, with ease o'ercome; . 

I leap for joy, pursue my way. 

And, as a bounding hart, fly home ; 

Through all eternity to prove 

Thy nature and Thy name is Love. 

Chaeles Weslet. 



THE CALL. 

Come, my way, my truth, my life,— 
Such a way as gives us breath ; 
Such a truth as ends all strife ; 
Such a life as killeth death. 

Come my light, my feast, my strength »— 
Such a light as shows a feast ; 
Such a feast as mends in length ; 
Such a strength as makes His guest. 



THE ODOR. 



755 



Come my joy, my love, my heart ! 
Such a joy as none can move : 
Such a love as none can part; 
Such a heart as joys in love. 

Gbokob Herbert. 



THE STRANGER xViTD HIS FRIEl^D. 

A POOE wayfaring man of grief 

Hath often crossed me on my way, 
Who sued so humbly for relief 

That I could never answer " ]^ay." 
[ had not power to ask His name, 
Whither He went, or whence He came ; 
Yet there was something in His eye 
That won my love, — I knew not why. 

Once, when my scanty meal was spread, 
He entered. Not a word He spake. 

Just perishing for want of bread, 
I gave Him all ; He blessed it, brake, 

And ate; — ^but gave me part again. 

Mine was an angeFs portion then ; 

For while I fed witk eager haste, 

Tliat crust was manna to my taste. 

I spied Him where a fountain burst 
Clear from the rock ; His strength was 
gone ; 
Tlie heedless water mocked His thirst; 

He heard it, saw it hurrying on. 
I ran to raise the suflPerer up ; 
Thrice from the stream He drained my cup. 
Dipped, and returned it running o'er ; — 
I drank, and never thirsted more. 

T was night; the floods were out,— it blew 

A winter hurricane aloof; 
I heard His voice abroad, and flew 

To bid Him welcome to my roof; 
I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest — 
Laid Him on my own couch to rest ; 
Then made the earth my bed, and seemed 
In Eden's garden while I dreamed. 

Stripped, wounded, beaten nigh to death, 
I found Him by the highway side ; 

I roused His pulse, brought back His breath, 
Revived His spirit and supplied 



Wine, oil, refreshment ; He was healed. 
I had, myself, a wound concealed — 
But from that hour forgot the smart, 
And peace bound up my broken heart. 

In prison I saw Him nexit, condemned 

To meet a traitor's doom at mom ; 
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed. 

And honored Him midst shame and scorn. 
My friendship's utmost zeal to try, 
He asked if I for Him would die ; 
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, 
But the free spirit cried, " I will." 

Then in a moment, to my view. 
The stranger darted from disguise ; 

The tokens in His hands I Knew — 
My Saviour stood before mine eyes. 

He spake ; and my poor name he named — 

" Of me thou hast not been ashamed; 

These deeds shall thy memorial be ; 

Fear not ! thou didst them unto me." 

James Montgomehy. 



THE ODOR. 

How sweetly doth My Master sound ! — My 
Master ! 
As ambergris leaves a rich scent 

Unto the taster. 
So do these words a sweet content 
An oriental fragrancy — My Master ! 

With these all day I do perfume my mind, 
My mind even thrust into them both — 

That I might find 
What cordials make this curious broth, 
This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my 
mind. 

My ^faster shall I speak ? Oh that to Thee 
My servant were a little so 

As flesh may be ; 
That these two words might creep and 
grow 
To some degree of spiciness to Thee ! 

Then should the pomander, which was before 
A speaking sweet, mend by retiection, 

And tell me more ; 
For pardon of my imperfection 

Would warm and work it sweeter than before. 



766 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



For when My Master, which alone is sweet, 
And e'en in my unworthiness pleasing, 

Shall call and meet 
My servant, as Thee not displeasing, 

That call is but the breathing of the sweet. 

This breathing would with gains, by sweet- 
'ning me, 
(As sweet things traffick when they meet) 

Eeturn to Thee ; 
And so this new commerce and sweet 
Bliould all my life employ, and busy me. 

Geoege Herbert. 



THE FEAST. 

Oh come away ! 

Make no delay — 
Come while my heart is clean and steady ! 

While faith and grace 

Adorn the place. 
Making dust and ashes ready ! 

Ko bliss here lent 

Is permanent — 
Such triumphs poor flesh cannot merit ; 

Short sips and sights 

Endear dehghts ; 
Who seeks for more he would inherit. 

Come then, true bread. 

Quick 'ning the dead, 
Whose eater shall not, cannot die ! 

Come, antedate 

On me that state 
Which brings poor dust the victory ! — 

Aye, victory ! 

Which from thine eye, 
Breaks as the day doth from the east, 

When the spilt dew, 

Like tears, doth shew 
The sad world wept to be releast. 

Spring up, O wine ! 

And springing shine 
With some glad message from His heart, 

Who did, when slain. 

These means ordain 
For me to have in Him a part ! — 



Such a sure pai^t 

In His blest heart. 
The well where living waters spiing, 

That, with it fed. 

Poor dust, though dead, 
Shall rise again, and live, and sing. 

drink and bread. 

Which strikes death dead. 
The food of man's immortal being ! 

Under veils here 

Thou art my cheer. 
Present and sure without my seeing. 

How dost Thou fly, 

And search and pry 
Through all my parts, and, like a quick 

And knowing lamp. 

Hunt out each damp 
Whose shadow makes me sad or sick. 



Oh what high joys ! 

The turtle's voice 
And songs I hear ! O quick'ning showci'f 

Of my Lord's blood. 

You make rocks bud. 
And crown dry hills with wells and flowenr^l 

For this true ease, 

This healing peace, 
For this brief taste of living glory, 

My soul and all, 

Kneel down and fall. 
And sing His sad victorious story 

O thorny crown. 

More soft than down I 
O painful cross, my bed of rest I 

O spear, the key 

Opening the way ! 
Thy worst state my only best 

Oh, all Thy griefs 

Are my reliefs. 
As aU my sins Thy sormws were 

And what can I 

To this reply ? 
What, O God ! but a silent tear I 



THE FLOWER. 



767 



Some toil and so w 

That wealth may flow, 
And dress this earth for next year's meat ; 

But let me heed 

Why Thou didst bleed, 
And what in the next world to eat. 

Henry Vafghan. 



COMPLAmiNG. 

Do not beguile my heart, 
Because Thou art 
My power and wisdom ! Put me not to shame. 
Because I am 
Thy clay that sweeps, Thy dust that calls ! 

Thou art the Lord of glory — 
The deed and story 
Are both Thy due ; but I a silly fly. 
That live or die 
According as the weather falls. 

Art Thou all justice, Lord ? 
Shows not Thy word 
Wore attributes ? Am I all throat or eye, 
To weep or cry ? 
Have I no parts but those of grief ? 

Let not Thy wrathful power 
Afflict my hour, 
\Lj inch of life ; or let Thy gracious power 
Contract my hour, 
That I may climb and find relief. 

Gborgb IIbrbert. 



SOIS'NETS. 

How orient is Thy beauty ! How divine I 
How dark 's the glory of the earth to Thine ! 
Thy veiled eyes outshine heaven's greater 

light, 
Unconruered by the shady cloud of night; 
Thy curious tresses dangle, all unbound, 
With unaffected order to the ground : 
How orient is Thy beauty I How divine! 
Row dark 's the glory of the earth to Thine I 

Nou myrrh, nor cassia, nor the choice per- 
fumes 
Of unctions nard, or aromatic fumes 



Of hot Arabia do enrich the air 
With more delicious sweetness than the fair 
Reports that crown the merits of Thy name 
With heavenly laurels of eternal fame, 
Which makes the virgins fix their eyes upon 

Thee, 
And all that view Thee are enamored on Thee. 

Who ever smelt the breath of morning flow- 
ers 

I:^ew sweetened with the dash of twilight 
showers. 

Of pounded amber, or the flowing thyme, 

Or purple violets in their proudest prime, 

Or swelling clusters from the cypress-tree ? 

So sweet 's my love ; aye, far more sweet is 
He— 

So fair, so sweet, that heaven's bright eye is 
dim. 

And flowers have no scent, compared with 

Him. 

Francis Quables. 



THE FLOWER. 

How fresh, 0, Lord, how sweet and clean 
Are thy returns! e'en as the flowers in 
spring — 
To which, besides their own demean. 
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. 
Grief melts away 
Like snow in May, 
As if there were no such cold thing. 

Who would have thought my shrivelled 
heart 
Could have recovered greenness ? It was gone 

Quite under ground ; as flowers depart 
To see their mother-root when they have 
blown. 
Where they together. 
All the hard weather, 
Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 

These are Thy wonders. Lord of power : 
Killing and quick'ning, bringing down to helJ 

And up to heaven in an hour. 
Making a chiming of a passing-bell. 
Wo say amiss. 
This or that is — 
Thy word is all, if we could spelL 



758 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Oh, that I once past changing were — 
Fast in Thy paradise, where no flower can 
wither ! 
Many a spring I shoot up fair. 
Offering at heaven, growing and groaning 
thither ; 

ITor doth my flower 
Want a spring-shower. 
My sins and I joining together. 

But, while I grow in a straight line. 
Still upwards bent, as if heaven were mine 
own, 
Thy anger comes, and I decline ; 
What frost to that ? what pole is not the zone 
Where all things burn, 
When Thou dost turn 
And the least frown of Thine is shown ? 

And now in age I bud again — 
After so many deaths I live and write ; 

I once more smell the dew and rain. 
And relish versing ; my only light. 
It cannot be 
That I am he 
On whom Thy tempests feU all night ! 

These are Thy wonders. Lord of love — 
To make us see we are but flowers that 
glide; 
Which when we once can find and 
prove, 
riiou hast a garden for us where to bide. 
Who would be more, 
Swelling through store, 
Forfeit their paradise by their pride. 

Gkoege Herbekt. 



A PRAYEE LIYIISTG AND DYING. 

Rook of ages, cleft for me. 
Let me hide myself in Thee ! 
Let the water and the blood. 
From Thy riven side which flowed. 
Be of sin the double cure — 
Cleanse me from its gilt and power. 

Not the labors of my hands 
Can fulfil Thy law's demands ; 
Could my zeal no respite know, 
Could my tears for ever flow. 



AH for sin could not atone — 
Thou must save, and Thou alone 

Nothing in my hand I bring — 
Simply to Thy cross I cling : 
Naked come to Thee for dress — 
Helpless look to Thee for grace ; 
Foul, I to the fountain fly — 
Wash me, Saviour, or I die. 

While I draw this fleeting breath, 
When my eye-strings break in death, 
When I soar to worlds unknown, 
See Thee on Thy judgment throne. 
Rock of ages, cleft for me. 
Let me hide myself in Thee ! 

AiTGirsTFS Montague Toplady. 



JESUS. 



K'one upon earth I desire beside Thee. 

Psalm Ixxiii. 25, 

How tedious and tasteless the hours 

When Jesus no longer I see ! 

Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and sweet 

flowers, 
Have lost all their sweetness with me ; 
The midsummer sun shines but dim. 
The fields strive in vain to look gay ; 
But when I am happy in Him, 
December 's as pleasant as May. 

His name yields the richest perfume, 
And sweeter than music His voice ; 
His presence disperses my gloom. 
And makes all within me rejoice ; 
I should, were He always thus nigh, 
Have nothing to wish or to fear ; 
No mortal so happy as I — 
My summer v/ould last all the year. 

Content with beholding His face, 
My all to His pleasure resigned, 
No changes of season or place 
Would make any change in my mind ; 
While blest with a sense of His love 
A palace a toy would appear ; 
And prisons would palaces prove, 
If Jesus would dwell with me there. 



THE WATCHMAN'S REPORT. 



159 



Dear Lord, if indeed I am Thine, 
If Thou art my sun and my song — 
Say, why dc I languish and pine, 
And why are my winters so long ? 
Oh drive these dark clouds from my sky, 
Thy soul-cheering presence restore ; 
Or take me unto Thee on high, 
Where whiter and clouds are no more. 

John Newton. 



THE EXAMPLE OF CHEIST. 

My dear Redeemer, and my God. 
I read my duty in Thy word ; 
But in Thy life the law appears 
Drawn out in living characters. 

Such was Thy truth, and such Thy zeal, 
Such deference to Thy Father's will. 
Such love, and meekness so divine, 
I would transcribe, and make them mine. 

Cold mountains, and the midnight air, 
Witnessed the fervor of Thy prayer ; 
The desert Thy temptations knew — 
Thy conflict, and Thy victory too. 

Be thou my pattern ; make me bear 
More of Thy gracious image here ; 
Then God, the Judge, shall own my name 
Amongst the followers of the Lamb. 

Isaac Watts, 



COME UNTO ME. 

Oome unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest." 

Come, said Jesus' sacred voice — 
Come and make my paths your choice ! 
I will guide you to your home — 
Weary pilgrim, hither come ! 

Thou who, houseless, sole, forlorn. 
Long hast borne the proud world's scorn. 
Long hast roamed the barren waste, 
Weary pilgrim, hither haste ! 



Ye who, tossed on beds of pain, 
Seek for ease, but seek in vain — 
Ye whose swollen and sleepless eyes 
TV^atch to see the morning rise — 



Ye by fiercer anguish torn, 

In strong remorse for guilt who mourn, 

Here repose your heavy care — 

A wounded spirit who can bear ! 



Sinner, come ! for here is found 
Balm that flows for every wound — 
Peace, that ever shall endure — 
Rest eternal, sacred, sure. 

Anna L^titia Baebauld 



THE WATCHMAN'S REPORT. 

Watchman, tell us of the night — 

What its signs of promise are ! 
Traveller, o'er yon mountain's height 

See that glory-beaming star! 
Watchman, does its beauteous ray 

Aught of hope or joy foretell ? 
Traveller, yes ; it brings the day — 

Promised day of Israel. 



Watchman, tell us of the night — 

Higher yet that star ascends ! 
Traveller, blessedness and hght, 

Peace and truth, its course portends. 
Watchman, will its beams alone 

Gild the spot that gave tliem birth ? 
Traveller, ages are its own — 

See, it bursts o'er all the earth ! 



Watchman, tell us of the night. 

For the morning seems to dawn. 
Traveller, darkness takes its iight — 

Doubt and terror are withdrawn. 
Watchman, let thy wandering ceaso ; 

Hie thee to thy quiet home. 
Traveller, lo I tlie prince of peace — 

Lo ! the Son of God is come. 

John BoiK'EiM(k 



reo 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



''JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL." 

Jesus, lover of mv soul, 

Let me to Thy bosom fly, 
While the nearer waters roll, 

While the tempest still is high ! 
Hide me, my Saviour, hide, 

Till the storm of life is past : 
Safe into Thy haven guide — 

Oh receive my soul at last. 



Other refuge have I none — 

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee ; 
Leave, ah! leave me not alone — 

Still support and comfort me. 
All my trust on Thee is stayed, 

All my help from Thee I bring : 
Cover my defenceless head 

With the shadow of Thy wing. 



Wilt Thou not regard my call? 

Wilt Thou not regard my prayer ? 
Lo ! I sink, I faint, I fall — 

Lo ! on Thee I cast my care ; 
Eeach me out Thy gracious hand, 

While I of Thy strength receive ! 
Hoping against hope I stand — 

Dying, and behold I live. 

Thou, O Christ, art all I want — 

More than all in Thee I find ; 
Itaise the fallen, cheer the faint. 

Heal the sick, and lead the blind. 
Just and holy is Thy name — 

I am all unrighteousness ; 
False, and full of sin I am . — 

Thou art full of truth and grace. 

Plenteous grace with Thee is found, — 

Grace to cover all my sin ; 
Let the healing streams abound — 

Make and keep me pure within. 
Thou of life the fountain art — 

Freely let me take of Thee ; 
Spring Thou up within my heart — 

Rise to all eternity. 

Chables Wesley. 



" JESUS, MY STRENGTH, MY HOPE." 

jEsrs, my strength, my hope, 

On Thee I cast my care — 
With humble confidence look up, 

And know thou hear'st my prayer. 
Give me on Thee to wait 

Till I can all things do — 
On Thee, almighty to create. 

Almighty to renew. 

I want a sober mind, 

A self-renouncing will 
That tramples down, and casts behind. 

The baits of pleasing ill — 
A soul inured to pain, 

To hardship, grief, and loss — 
Bold to take up, firm to sustain. 

The consecrated cross. 

I want a godly fear, 

A quick discerning eye, 
That looks to Thee w^hen sin is near. 

And sees the tempter fly — 
A spirit still prepared, 

And armed with jealous care — 
Forever standing on its guard, 

And watching unto prayer. 

I want a heart to pray. 

To pray, and never cease ; 
Never to murmur at Thy stay, 

Or wish my sufferings less. 
This blessing, above all. 

Always to pray, I want, — 
Out of the deep on Thee to call, 

And never, never faint. 

I want a true regard — 

A single, steady aim 
(Unmoved by threatening or reward), 

To Thee and Thy great name- 
A jealous, just concern 

For Thine immortal praise — 
A pure desire that all may learn 

And glorify Thy grace. 

I rest upon Thy word, — 

The promise is for me ; 
My sucoor and salvation. Lord, 

Shall surely come from Thee ; 



ETERNAL BEAM OF LIGHT DIVINE. 



^61 



But let me still abide, 

Nor from my hope remove, 

Till Thou my patient spirit guide 
Into Thy perfect love. 

Chaeles Wesley. 



LlVma BY CHRIST. 

Jesus, Thy boundless love to me 

!No thought can reach, no tongue declare ; 
Oh knit my thankful heart to Thee, 

And reign without a rival there. 
Thine wholly. Thine alone, I am — 
Be Thou alone my constant flame. 

Oh grant that nothing in my soul 
May dwell but Thy pure love alone ; 

Oh may Thy love possess me whole — 
My joy, my treasure, and my crown! 

Strange flames far from my heart remove — 

My every act, word, thought, be love. 

Love^ how cheering is Thy ray ! 

All pain before Thy presence flies ; 
Core, anguish, sorrow, melt away 

Where'er Thy healing beams arise ; 
Jesu, notliing may I see, 
N'othing desire or seek, but Thee ! 

Unwearied may I this pursue — 
Dauntless, to the high prize aspire ; 

Hourly within my soul renew 
This holy flame, this heavenly flre ; 

And, day and night, be all my care 

To guard the sacred treasure there. 

My Saviour, Thou Thy love to me 
In shame, in want, in pain, hast showed ; 

For me, on the accursed tree. 
Thou pouredst forth Thy guiltless blood ; 

Thy wounds upon my heart impress, 

Nor auglit shall the loved stamp efface. 

Miire hard than marble is my heart. 
And foul with sins of deepest stain ; 

But Thou tlie mighty Saviour art. 
Nor flowed Thy cleansing blood in vain ; 

Ah, soften, melt this rock, and may 

Thy blood wash all these stains away I 



Oh that I, as a little child. 
May follow Thee, and never rest 

Till sweetly Thou hast breathed Thy miid 
And lowly mind into my breast ! 

Nor ever may we parted be 

Till I become one spirit with Thee. 



Still let Thy love point out my way ! 

How wondrous things Thy love hath 
wrought ! 
Still lead me, lest I go astray — 

Direct my word, inspire my thought ; 
As if I fall, soon may I hear 
Thy voice, and know that love is near. 



In suffering be Thy love my peace, 

In weakness be Thy love my power ; 
And when the storms of life shall cease, 

Jesus, in that important hour. 
In death, as life, be Thou my guide, 
And save me, who for me hast died. 

Paul Geehard, (German.) 
Translation of John Wesley. 



'' ETERNAL BEAM OF LIGHT DIVINE.' 

Eteenal beam of light divine, 

Fountain of unexhausted love, 
In whom the Father's glories shine 

Through earth beneath, and heaven above 



Jesus, the weary wanderer's rest, 
Give me Thy easy yoke to bear ; 

With steadfast patience arm my breast, 
With spotless love and lowly fear. 



Thankful I take the cup from Thee, 
Prepared and mingled by Thy skili- 

Though bitter to the taste it be. 
Powerful the wounded soul to heal. 



Be thou, Rock of Ages, nigh ! 

So shall each murmuring thought be gone 
And grief, and fear, and care shall fly 

As clouds before the mid-day sun. 



762 



POEMS OF RELIGIO]^^. 



Speak to my warring passions, — Peace! 

Say to my trembling heart, — Be still ! 
Thy power my strength and fortress is, 

For all things serve Thy sovereign will. 



death ! where is thy sting ? Where now 
Thy boasted victory, O grave ? 

Who shall contend with God ? or who 
Can hurt whom God delights to save ? 

Chaeles Wesley. 



"FKIEND OF ALL." 

Feiexd of all who seek Thy favor. 

Us defend 

To the end — 
Be oiir utmost Saviour ! 



Us, who join on earth to adore Thee, 

Guard and love, 

Till above 
Both appear before Thee ! 

Fix on Thee our whole affection- 
Love di\'ine, 
Keep us Thine, 

Safe in Thy protection ! 

Christ, of all our conversation 

Be the scope — 

Lift us up 
To Thy full salvation ! 

Bring us every moment nearer ; 

Fairer rise 

In our eyes — 
Dearer still, and dearer ! 

Infinitely dear and precious, 

With Thy love 

From above 
Evermore refresh us ! 

Strengthened by the cordial blessing. 

Let us haste 

To the feast, 
Feast of joys unceasing! 



Perfect let us walk before Thee — 

Walk in white 

To the sight 
Of Thy heavenly glory ! 

Both with calm impatience press on 

To the prize — 

Scale the skies, 
Take entire possession- 
Drink of life's exhaustless river — 

Take of Thee 

Life's fair tree — 
Eat, and live for ever ! 

Charles WEfiLE^. 



LITANY. 

Saviotje, when in dust to Thee 
Low we bow the adoring knee ; 
When, repentant, to the skies 
Scarce we lift om* weeping eyes— 
0, by all Thy pains and woe 
Suff*ered once for man below, 
Bending from Thy throne on high, 
Hear our solemn litany ! 

By Thy helpless infant years ; 
By Thy life of want and tears ; 
By Thy days of sore distress, 
In the savage wilderness ; 
By the dread, mysterious hour 
Of the insulting tempter's power — 
Turn, turn, a favoring eye- 
Hear our solemn litany ! 

By the sacred griei^ that wept 
O'er the grave where Lazarus slept; 
By the boding tears that flowed 
Over Salem's loved abode ; 
By the anguished sigh that told 
Treachery lurked within the fold — 
From Thy seat above the sky 
Hear our solemn litany ! 

By Thine hour of dire despair ; 
By Thine agony of prayer ; 



HYMNS. 



768 



By the cross, the wail, the thorn, 
Piercing spear, and torturing scorn ; 
By the gloom that veiled the skies 
O'er the dreadful sacrifice — 
Listen to our humble cry : 
Hear our solemn litany 1 



By Thy deep expiring groan ; 
By the sad sepulchral stone ; 
By the vault whose dark abode 
Held in vain the rising God ! 
Oh ! from earth to heaven restored, 
Mighty, reascended Lord — 
Listen, listen to the cry 
Of our solemn litany ! 

SiE Egbert Geant. 



HYMX. 



When gathering clouds around I view, 
And days are dark, and friends are few, 
On Him I lean, who, not in vain, 
Experienced every human pain ; 
He sees my wants, allays my fears. 
And counts and treasures up my tears. 

If aught should tempt my soul to stray 
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way. 
To fly the good I would pursue. 
Or do the sin I would not do, — 
Still He who felt temptation's power 
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour. 

If wounded love my bosom swell. 
Deceived by those I prized too well, 
He shall His pitying aid bestow 
Who felt on earth severer woe. 
At once betrayed, denied, or fled, 
By those who shared His daily bread. 



If vexing thoughts within mo rise. 
And sore dismayed my spirit dies, 
Still He who once vouchsafed to bear 
The sickening anguish of despair 
Shiill sweetly soothe, shall gently dry, 
The throbbing heai't, the streaming eye. 



When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, 
Which covers what was once a friend. 
And from his voice, his hand, his smile, 
Divides me for a little while ; 
Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed, 
For Thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead. 



And oh, when I have safely past 
Through every conflict — but the last, 
Still, still unchanging, watch beside 
My painful bed, — for .Thou hast died ; 
Then point to realms of cloudless day. 
And wipe the latest tear away. 

Sib Egbert Graoti 



HYMN 



FOE SIXTEENTH SIIS^DAY AFTER TEINITY. 

When our heads are bowed with wee, 
When our bitter tears o'erflow, 
When we mourn the lost, the dear : 
Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 



Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn, 
Thou our mortal griefs hast borne, 
Thou hast shed the human tear: 
Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 



When the sullen death-bell tolls 
For our own departed souls — 
When our final doom is near. 
Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 



Thou hast bowed the dying head, 
Thou the blood of life hast shed, 
Thou hast filled n mortal bier : 
Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 



When the heart is sad within 
With the thought of all its sin, 
When the spirit shrinks with feai', 
Gracious Son of Mary, hear I 



764 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Thon the shame, the grief hast known ; 
Though the sins were not Thine own, 
Thou hast deigned their load to hear : 
Oracious Son of Mary, hear ! 

Heney Hart Milman. 



THE DEAD CHRIST. 

Take the dead Christ to my chamber — 

The Christ I brought from Eome ; 
Over all the tossing ocean, 

He has reached His western home : 
Bear Him as in procession, 

And lay Him solemnly 
Where, through weary night and morning. 

He shall bear me company. 

The name I bear is other 

Than that I bore by birth ; 
And I 've given life to childrei: 

Who '11 grow and dwell on earth ; 
But the time comes swiftly towards me — 

I^or do I bid it stay- 
When the dead Christ will be more to me 

Than all I hold to-day. 

Lay the dead Christ beside me — 

Oh, press Him on my heart ; 
I would hold Him long and painfully. 

Till the weary tears sliould start — 
Till the divine contagion 

Heal me of self and sin. 
And the cold weight press wholly down 

The pulse that chokes within. 

Reproof and frost, they fret me ; 

Towards the free, the sunny lands. 
From the chaos of existence, 

I stretch these feeble hands — 
And, penitential, kneeling. 

Pray God would not be wroth. 
Who gave not the strength of feeling 

And strength of labor both. 

Thou 'rt but a wooden carving, 

Defaced of worms, and old ; 
Yet more to me Thou couldst not be 

Wert Thou ah wrapt in gold, 



Like the gem-bedizened baby 
Whicli, at the Twelfth-day noon, 

They show from the Ara Cceli's steps 
To a merry dancing tune. 

I ask of Thee no wonders — 

Ko changing white or red ; 
I dream not Thou art living, 

I love and prize Thee dead. 
That salutary deadness 

I seek through want and pain. 
From which God's own high power can bid 

Our virtue rise again. 

JtTLiA Waed Howe. 



so:n"i^et. 

In the desert of the Holy Land I strayed, 
Where Christ once lived, but seems to live 

no more ; 
In Lebanon my lonely home I made ; 
I heard the wind among the cedars roar, 
And saw far off the Dead Sea's solemn shore--- 
But 't is a dreary wilderness, I said, 
Since the prophetic spirit hence has sped. 
Then from the convent in the vale I heard. 
Slow chanted forth, the everlasting Word — 
Saying " I am He that liveth, and was dead : 
And lo I am alive for evermore." 
Then forth upon my pilgrimage I fare. 
Resolved to find and praise Him every where 

Anontmotts. 



A HYMK 

Deop, drop, slow tears. 

And bathe those beauteous feet 
Which brought from heaven 

The news and prince of peace 
Cease not, wet eyes. 

His mercies to entreat 
To cry for vengeance 

Sin doth never cease; 
In your deep floods 

Drown all my faults and fears ; 
N"or let His eye 

See sin, but through my tears. 

PhINKAS FLSTCHB& 



1 



CHRISTMAS. 



TGf) 



A CHRISTMAS HYMK. 

It was the calm and silent night ! 

Seven hundred years and fifty-three 
llad Eome been growing up to might, 

And now was queen of land and sea. 
No sound was heard of clashing wars — 

Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain : 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars 

Held undisturbed their ancient reign. 

In the solemn midnight. 

Centuries ago. 

'T was in the calm and silent night I 

The senator of haughty Rome, 
Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, 

From lordly revel rolling home ; 
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell 
His breast with thoughts of boundless 
sway; 
What recked the Roman what befell 
A paltry province far away, 

In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago ? 

Within that province far away 

Went plodding home a weary boor ; 
A streak of light before him lay, 

Fallen through a half-shut stable-door 
Across his path. He passed — for naught 

Told what was going on within ; 
How keen the stars, his only thought — 

The air how calm, and cold, and thin. 

In the solemn midnight. 

Centuries ago I 

Oh, strange indifibrence ! low and high 

Drowsed over common joys and cares ; 
The earth was still — but knew not why 

The world was listening, unawares. 
How calm a moment may precede 

One that shall thrill the world for ever! 
To that still moment, none would heed, 

Man's doom was linked no more to sever- 
In the solemn midnight. 
Centuries ago I 

It is the calm and solemn night I 
A thousand bells ring out, and throw 

Their joyous peals abroad, and smito 
The darkness — charmed and holy now ! 



The night that erst no name had worn, 

To it a happy name is given ; 
For in that stable lay, new-born. 

The peaceful prince of earth and heaven. 
In the solemn midnight. 
Centuries ago ! 

Alfred Dommett. 



CHRISTMAS. 

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky. 
The flying cloud, the frosty light : 
The year is dying in the night — 

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new — 
Ring, happy bells, across the show : 
The year is going, let him go ; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief .that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
And ancient forms of party strife ; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times : 
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 

But ring tlie fuller minstrel in. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite; 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease. 
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old, 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free, 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand; 
Ring out the darkness of the land — 

Ring in the Christ that is to be. 

Alfred Tenktsox 



766 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



ST. PETER'S DAY. 

Thou thrice denied, jet thrice beloved, 
"Watch by Thine own forgiven friend ! 

In sharpest perils faithful proved, 
Let his soul love Thee to the end. 



The prayer is heard — else why so deep 
His slumber on the eve of death ? 

And wherefore smiles he in his sleep, 
As one who drew celestial breath ? 

He loves and is beloved again — 
Can his soul choose but be at rest ? 

Borrow hath fled away, and pain 
Dares not invade the guarded nest. 

He dearly loves, and not alone ; 

For his winged thoughts are soaring high, 
Where never yet frail heart was known 

To breathe in vain affection's sigh. 

He loves and weeps ; but more than tears 
Have sealed Thy welcome and his love — 

One look lives in him, and endears 

Crosses and wrongs where'er he rove — 

That gracious chiding look. Thy call 
To win him to himself and Thee, 

Sweetening the sorrow of his fall 
Which else were rued too bitterly ; 

Even through the veil of sleep it shines, 
The memory of that kindly glance ; — 

The angel, watching by, divines, 

And spares awhile his blissful trance. 

Or haply to his native lake 
His vision wafts him back, to talk 

With Jesus, ere his flight he take, 
As in that solemn evening walk. 

When to the bosom of his friend. 
The Shepherd, He whose name is Good, 

Did His dear lambs and sheep commend, 
"Roth bought and nourished with HJs blood ; 



Then laid on him th' inverted tree, 
Which, firm embraced with heart and arm 

Might cast o'er hope and memory, 
O'er life and death, its awful charm. 

With brightening heart he bears it on, 
His passport through th' eternal gates, 

To his sweet home — so nearly won. 
He seems, as by the door he waits, 

The unexpressive notes to hear 
Of angel song and angel motion, 

Bising and falling on the ear 

Like waves in joy's unbounded ocean. 

His dream is changed — the tyrant's voice 
Calls to that last of glorious deeds— 

But as he rises to rejoice, 

I^ot Herod, but an angel leads. 



He dreams he sees a lamp flash bright, 
Glancing around his prison room ; 

But 't is a gleam of heavenly light 
That fills up all the ample gloom. 

The flame, that in a few short yeara 
Deep through the chambers of the dead 

Shall pierce, and dry the fount of tears. 
Is waving o'er his dungeon-bed. 



I 

'4 



Touched, he upstarts — his chains unbind — 
Through darksome vault, up massy stair, 

His dizzy, doubting footsteps wind 
To freedom and cool, moonlight air 

Then all himself, all joy and calm, 
Though for awhile his hand forego, 

Just as it touched, the martyr's palm. 
He turns him to his task below • 

The pastoral staff, the keys of heaven, 
To wield awhile in gray -haired might — 

Then from his cross to spring forgiven, 
And follow Jesus out of sight. 

(Toni^ Eeblb 



THE LABORER'S NOONDAY HYMN. 



'767 



THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS. 

Where the remote Bermudas ride 
In th' ocean's bosom, unespied — 
From a small boat, that rowed along, 
The list'ning winds received this song : 

What should we do but sing His praise 
That led us through the watery maze 
Unto an isle so long unknown, 
And yet far kinder than our own ? 
Where He the huge sea-monsters, wracks 
That lift the deep upon their backs. 
He lands us on a grassy stage, 
Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage. 
He gave us this eternal spring 
Which here enamels every thing. 
And sends the fovy^ls to us in care. 
On daily visits through the air. 
He hangs in shades the orange bright, 
Like golden lamps in a green night. 
And does in the pomegranates close 
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows, 
lie makes the figs our mouths to meet, 
And throws the melons at our feet. 
But apples — plants of such a price 
No tree could ever bear them twice. 
With cedars, chosen by His hand 
From Lebanon, He stores the land ; 
And makes the hollow seas, that roar, 
Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 
He cast (of which we rather boast) 
The gospel's pearl upon our coast ; 
And in these rocks for us did frame 
A temple, where to sound His name. 
Oh! let our voice His praise exalt 
Till it arrive at heaven's vault ; 
Which, then, perhaps rebounding, may 
Echo beyond the Mexique bay. 

Thus sang they, in the English boat, 
A holy and a cheerful note ; 
And all the way, to guide their chime. 
With falling oars they kept the time. 

Andrew Maryell. 



HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID. 

W^E]sr Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her father's God before her moved. 

An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
^J <lay, along the astonished lands 

The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands 

Returned the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answered keen ; 
And Zion's daughters poured their lays, 

With priest's and warrior's voice betweeii. 
No portents now our foes amaze — 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 
Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen, 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen. 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And oh, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night, 
Be Thou, long-sufiering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams — 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams. 

And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, the blood of goats, 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize — 
A contrite heart, and humble thoughts, 

Are mine accepted sacrifice. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



THE LABORER'S NOONDAY HYMN. 

Up to the throne of God is borne 
The voice of praise at early morn, 
And He accepts the punctual hymn 
Sung as the light of day grows dim ; 

Nor will He turn his ear aside 
From holy oflferings at noontide : 
Then, here reposing, let us raise 
A song of gratitude and praise. 



768 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



What thougli our burden be not ligbt, 
We need not toil from morn to nigbt ; 
The respite of the mid-day hour 
Is in the thankful creature's power. 

Blest are the moments, doubly blest, 
That, drawn from this one hour of rest, 
Are with a ready heart bestowed 
Upon the service of our God ! 

Each field is then a hallowed spot — 
An altar is in each man's cot, 
A church in every grove that spreads 
Its living roof above our heads. 

Look up to heaven ! the industrious sun 
Already half his race hath run ; 
He cannot halt nor go astray — 
But our immortal spirits may. 

Lord ! since his rising in the east 
If we have faltered or transgressed, 
Guide, from Thy love's abundant source. 
What yet remains of this day's course. 

Help with Thy grace, through life's short 

day. 
Our upward and our downward way ; 
And glorify for us the west. 
When we shall sink to final rest. 

William Wobdswoetbl 



TO KEEP A TEUE LENT. 

Is this a fast — to keep 
The larder lean. 
And clean 
From fat of veals and sheep ? 

Is it to quit the dish 

Of flesh, yet still 
To fill 
The platter high with fish? 

Is it to fast an hour — 

Or ragged to go — 
Or show 
A downcast look, and sour ? 



No ! 't is a fast to dole 

Thy sheaf of whe;it, 
And meat,. 
Unto the hungry soul. 

It is to fast from strife. 
From old debate 
And hate — 
To circumcise thy life. 

To show a heart grief-rent ; 
To starve thy sin, 
Kot bin — 
And that 's to keep thy lent. 

EOBEST HeBEIOIC 



FASTING. 

Is fasting then the thing that God requires? 

Can fasting expiate, or slake those fires 
That sin hath blown to such a mighty 

flame? 
Can sackcloth clothe a fault, or hide a shame ? 
Can ashes cleanse thy blot, or purge thy of- 
fence ? 
Or do thy hands make heaven a recompense, 
By strewing dust upon thy briny face ? 
Are these the tricks to purchase heavenly 

grace ? — 
No I though thou pine thyself with willing 

want. 
Or face look thin, or carcass ne'er so gaunt ; 
Although thou worser weeds than sackcloth 

wear. 
Or naked go, or sleep in shirts of hair ; 
Or though thou choose an ash-tub for thy bed, 
Or make a daily dunghill on thy head ; — 
Thy labor is not poised with equal gains, 
For thou hast naught but labor for thj 

pains. 
Such holy madness God rejects and loathes, 
That sinks no deeper than the skin or clothes, 
'T is not thine eyes, which, taught to weep 

by art, j 

Look red with tears (not guilty of thy heart) ; 
'T is not the holding of thy hands so high. 
Nor yet the purer squintiug of thine eye ; 



t 



CHARITY AND HUMILITY. 



769 



Tis not your mimic mouths, your antic 

faces, 
Your Scripture phrases, or affected graces, 
Nor prodigal up-handing of thine eyes, 
Whose gashful halls do seem to pelt the 

skies ; 
T is not the strict reforming of your hair, 
So close that all the neighhor skull is 

hare; 
'T is not the drooping of thy head so low, 
Nor yet the lowering of thy sullen hrow ; 
Nor wolvish howling that disturbs the air. 
Nor repetitions, or your tedious prayer : 
No, no ! 't is none of this, that God regards- 
Such sort of fools their own applause re- 
wards ; 
Such puppet-plays to heaven are strange and 

quaint ; 
Their service is unsweet, and foully taint ; 
Their words fall fruitless from their idle 

brain — 
But true repentance runs in other strain : 
Where sad contrition harbors, there the 

heart 
Is truly acquainted with the secret smart 
Of past offences— hates the bosom sin 
The most, which the soul took pleasure in. 
No crime unsifted, no sin unpresented, 
Can lurk unseen ; and seen, none unlament- 

ed. 
The troubled soul 's amazed with dire aspects 
Of lesser sins committed, and detects 
The wounded conscience ; it cries amain 
For mercy, mercy — cries, and cries again; 
It sadly grieves, and soberly laments ; 
It yearns for grace, reforms, returns, re- 
pents. 
Aye, this is incense whose accepted favor 
Mounts up the heavenly Throne, and findeth 

favor ; 
Aye, this is it whose valor never fails— 
With God it stoutly wrestles, and prevails ; 
Aye, this is it that pierces heaven above. 
Never returning home, like Noah's dove, 
But brings an olive leaf, or some increase 
/-ffiat works salvation, and eternal peace. 

Fbancis Quables. 



101 



CHARITY AND HUMILITY. 

FAE^have I clambered in my mind. 
But naught so great as love I find ; 
Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might, 
Are naught compared to that good spright. 
Life of delight, and soul of bliss ! 
Sure source of lasting happiness! 
Higher than heaven, lower than hell ! 
What is thy tent ? where mayst thou dwell 

My mansion hight humility, 
Heaven's vastest capability — 
The further it doth downward tend 
The higher up it doth ascend ; 
If it go down to utmost naught 
It shall return with that it sought. 

Lord, stretch Thy tent in my strain 
breast — 
Enlarge it downward, that sure rest 
May there be pight ; for that pure fire 
Wherewith thou wontest to inspire 
All self-dead souls. My life is gone — 
Sad solitude's my irksome wonne. 
Cut off from men and all this world, 
In Lethe's lonesome ditch I 'm hurled. 
Nor might nor sight doth aught me move, 
Nor do I care to be above. 
feeble rays of mental light. 
That best be seen in this dark night! 
What are you ? what is any strength 
If it be not laid in one length 
With pride or love ? I naught desire 
But a new life, or quite t' expire. 
Could I demohsh with mine eye 
Strong towers, stop the fleet stars in sky, 
Bring down to earth the pale-faced moon, 
Or turn black midnight to bright noon— 
Though all things were put in my hand — 
As parched, as dry, as the Libyan sand 
Would be my life, if charity 
Were wanting. But humility 
Is more than my poor soul durst crave, 
That lies intombed in lowly grave. 
But if 't were lawful up to i^end 
My voice to heaven, this should it rend : 

Lord, thrust me deeper into dust 
That Thou mayest raise me with the just I 

IIekey MORTl 



no 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



HUMILITY. 

The bird that soars on highest wing 
Builds on the ground her lowly nest ; 

And she that doth most sweetly sing 

Sings in the shade, where all things rest ; 
In lark and nightingale we see 

What honor hath humility. 

When Mary chose " the better part," 

She meekly sat at Jesus' feet ; 
And Lydia's gently opened heart 

Was made for God's own temple meet : 
Fairest and best adorned is she 

Whose clothing is humility. 

The saint that wears heaven's brightest 
crown 
In deepest adoration bends : 
The weight of glory bows him down 

Then most, when most his soul ascends : 
i^earest the throne itself must be 
The footstool of humility. 

James Montgomery. 



-IS THIS A TIME TO PLANT AWD 
BUILD?" 

Is this a time to plant and build, 
Add house to house, and field to field, 
When round our walls the battle lowers — 
When mines are hid beneath our towers, 
And watchful foes are stealing round 
To search and spoil the holy gTouiid ? 

.s this a time for moonlight drea..i.-> 
Of love and home, by mazy streams — 
For fancy w^ith her shadowy toys, 
Aerial hopes and pensive joys. 
While souls are wandering far and wide, 
A.nd curses swarm on every side? 

N'o — rather steel thy melting heart 
To act the martyr's sternest part — 
To watch, with firm unshrinking eye, 
Thy darling visions as they die, 
rill all bright hopes, and hues of day, 
Have faded into twilight gray. 
Yes — let them pass without a sigh ; 
And if the world vseem dull and dry — 



If long and sad thy lonely hours, 
And winds have rent thy sheltering bowers- 
Bethink thee what thou art, and where, 
A sinner in a life of care. 

The fire of God is soon to fall — 
Thou know'st it — on this earthly ball ; 
Full many a soul, the price of blood 
Marked by the Almighty's hand for good, 
To utter death that hour shall sweep — 
And will the saints in heaven dare weep ? 

Then in His wrath shall God uproot 
The trees He set, for lack of fruit ; 
And drown in rude tempestuous blaze 
The towers His hand had deigned to raise. 
In silence, ere that storm begin. 
Count o'er His mercies and thy sin. 

Pray onlj' that thine aching heart — 
From visions vain content to part, 
Strong for love's sake its woe to hide — 
May cheerful wait the cross beside : 
Too happy if, that dreadful day. 
Thy life be given thee for a prey. 

Snatched sudden from the avenging rod, 
Safe in the bosom of thy God, 
How wilt thou then look back, and smile 
On thoughts that bitterest seemed erewhile. 
And bless the pangs that made thee see 
This was no world of rest for thee ! 

Jows KcBua. 



HYMIS^ 

FOR AXKLYEESAKY MARRIAGE DATE. 

LoED, living here are we — 

As fast united yet 
As when our hands and hearts by Tboe 

Together first were knit. 
And in a thankful song 

iSTow sing we will Thy praise, 
For that Thou dost as well prolong 

Our loving as our days. 



THE PRIEST. 



771 



Together we have now- 
Begun another year ; 

But how much time Thou wilt allow 
Thou mak'st it not appear. 

We, therefore, do implore 
That live and love we may, 

Still so as if but one day more 
Together we should stay. 

Let each of other's wealth 

Preserve a faithful care, 
And of each other's joy and health 

As if one soul we were. 
Such conscience let us make, 

Each other not to grieve, 
As if we daily were to take 

Our everlasting leave. 

The frowardness that springs 

From our corrupted kind, 
Or from those troublous outward things 

Which may distract the mind, 
Permit Thou not, Lord, 

Our constant love to shake — 
Or to disturb our true accord. 

Or make our hearts to ache. 

But let these frailties prove 

Affection's exercise ; 
And that discretion teach our love 

Which wins the noblest prize. 
So time, which wears away. 

And ruins all things else. 
Shall fix our love on Thee for aye. 

In whom perfection dwells. 

GeOEGE WlTlIER. 



DEDICATION OF A CHUFwCH. 

Jerusalem, that place divine, 
The vision of sweet peace is named •, 
xU heaven her glorious turrets shine — 
Her walls of living stones are framed; 
While angels guard her on each side- 
Fit company fur such a bride. 

She, decked in new attire from heaven. 
Her wedding chamber now descends. 
Prepared in marriage to be given 
To Christ, on whom her joy depends. 



Her walls, wherewith she is inclosed, 
And streets, are of pure gold composed. 

The gates, adorned with pearls most bright, 

The way to hidden glory show ; 

And thither, by the blessed might 

Of faith in Jesus' merits, go 

All those who are on earth distressed 
Because they have Christ's name pro- 
fessed. 

These stones the workmen dress and beat 
Before they throughly polished are ; 
Then each is in his proper seat 
Established by the builder's care — 
In this fair frame to stand for ever, 
So joined that them no force can sever. 

To God, who sits in highest seat. 

Glory and power given be ! 

To Father, Son, and Paraclete, 

Who reign in equal dignity — 
Whose boundless power we still adore. 
And sing Their praise for evermore ! 

William Deuaimoitl*. 



THE PBIEST. 

I WOULD I were an excellent divine 

That had the bible at my fingers' ends ; 
That men might hear out of this mouth of 
mine, 
How God doth make His enemies Hia 
friends : 
Rather than with a thundering and long 

prayer 
Be led into presumption, or despair. 

This would I be, and would none other be — 
But a religious servant of my God ; 

And know there is none other God but He, 
And willingly to suffer mercy's rod — 

Joy in His grace, and live but in His love. 

And seek my bliss but in the world above. 

And I would frame a kind of faithful prayer. 
For all estates within the state of grace, 

That careful love might never know despair, 
Nor servile fear might faithful love detace : 

And this would I both day and night devise 

To make ray humble spirit's exercise. 



772 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



And I woukl read the rules of sacred life ; 
Persuade the troubled soul to patience ; 
The husband care, and comfort to the wife, 

To child and servant due obedience ; 
Faith to the friend, and to the neighbor 

peace, 
That love might live, and quarrels all might 
cease. 

Prayer for the liealtli of all that are diseased. 
Confession unto all that are convicted. 

And patience unto all that are displeased, 
And comfort unto all that are afllicted. 

And mercy unto all that have offended. 

And grace to all : that all mny be amended. 

Nicholas Bhbton. 



ON A PRAYER BOOK SENT TO MRS. 
M. R. 

Lo I here a little volume, but great book, 

(Fear it not, sweet — 

It is no hy])Ocrito I ) 
Much larger in itself tluiii in its look I 

It is — in one rich handful — licaven, and all 

Heaven's royal hosts encamped — thus small 

To prove, that true schools use to tell, 

A thousand angels in one point can dwell. 

It is love's great artillery. 

Which here contracts itself, and comes to lie 

Close couched in your white bosom, and from 

thence. 
As from a snowy fortress of defence. 
Against the ghostly foe to take your part, 
And fortify the hold of your chaste heart. 

It is the armory of light — 

Let constant use but keep it briglit, 

You'll find it yields 
To holy hands and humble hearts 

More swords and shields 
Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts. 

Only be sure 

The hands be i)ure 
That hold these weapons^ and tlie eyes 
Those of turtles — chaste and true, 

Wakeful and wise. 
Here is a friend shall fight for you ; 



Hold but this book before your heart — 
Let prayer alone to play his part. 

But oh! the heart 
That studies this high art 
Must be a sure house-keeper, 
And yet no sleeper. 

Dear soul, be strong — 

Mercy will come ere long, 

And bring her bosom full of blessings — 

Flowers of never-fading graces. 

To make immortal dressings 

For worthy souls, whose wise embraces 

Store up themselves for Ilim who is alone 

The spouse of virgins, and tlie virgin's soa 

But if the noble bridegroom, when he coires. 
Shall find the wandering heart froir, 

home. 
Leaving her chaste abode 
To gad abroad — 

Amongst the gay mates of the god of flie? 
To take her pleasures, and to play, 
And keep the devil's holiday — 

To dance in the snn-shino of some smiling, 
But beguiling 

Spear of sweet and sugared lies — 

Some slippery pair 

Of false, perhaps as fair. 
Flattering but forswearing eyes — 

Doubtless some other heart 

Will get the start. 

And, stepping in before, 
Will take possession of the sacred store 

Of hidden sweets and holy joys — 

Words which are not heard with ears, 
(These tumultuous shops of noise) 

Effectual whispers, whoso still voice 
Tlie soul itself more feels than hears — 

Amorous languishments, luminous trances. 
Sights which are not seen with eyes — 

Spiritual and soul-i)iercing glances, 

Whose pure and subtle lightning flies 

Home to the heart, and sets the house on fire. 

And melts it down in sweet desire ; 
Yet doth not stay 

To ask the windows leave to pass that way- 



THE TRUE USE OF MUSIC. 



773 



Delicious deaths, soft exhalations 

Of soul, dear and divine annihilations — 

A thousand unknown rites 

Of joys, and rarified delights — 
An hundred thousand loves and graces, 

And many a mystic thing 

Which the divine embraces 
Of the dear Spouse of spirits with them will 
bring, 

For which it is no shame 
That dull mortality must not know a name. 

Of all this hidden store 
Of blessings, and ten thousand more. 

If, when He come, 
He find the heart from home. 

Doubtless He will unload 
Himself some otherwhere. 

And pour abroad 

His precious sweets 
On the fair soul whom first He meets. 

Oh fair ! oh fortunate ! oh rich ! oh dear ! 

Oh happy and thrice happy she — 

Dear silver-breasted dove. 

Whoe'er she be — 

Whose early love 

With winged vows 
Makes haste to meet her morning spouse, 
A.nd close with His immortal kisses — 

Happy soul 1 who never misses 

To improve that precious hour. 

And every day 

Seize her sweet prey — 

All fresh and fragrant as He rises, 

Dropping with a balmy shower, 

A delicious dew of spices! 

Oh ! let that happy soul hold fast 
Her heavenly armful ; she shall taste 
At once ten thousand paradises — 
She shall have power 
To rifle and deflower 
The rich and roseal spring of those rare sweets 
Which, with a swelling bosom, there she 

meets — 
Uv^andless and infinite, bottomless treasures 

Of pure inebriating pleasures : 
Happy soul! she sliall discover 
What joy, what bliss. 
How many heavens at once, it is 
To have a God become her lover. 

EiCHAED Crash AW. 



THE TRUE USE OF MUSIC. 

Lifted into the cause of sin, 

Why should a good be evil ? 
Music, alas I too long has been 

Pressed to obey the devil — 
Drunken, or lewd, or light, the lay 

Flowed to the soul's undoing — 
Widened, and strewed with flowers, 
way 

Down to eternal ruin. 

Who on the part of God will rise, 

Innocent sound recover — 
Fly on the prey, and take the prize. 

Plunder the carnal lover — 
Strip him of every moving strain. 

Every melting measure — 
Music in virtue's cause retain. 

Rescue the holy pleasure ? 

Come let us try if Jesus' love 

Will not as well inspire us ; 
This is the theme of those above— 

This upon earth shall fire us. 
Say, if your hearts are tuned to sing 

Is there a subject greater ? 
Harmony all its strains may bring; 

Jesus' name is sweeter. 

Jesus the soul of music is — 

His is the noblest passion • 
Jesus's name is joy and peace, 

Happiness and salvation ; 
Jesus's name the dead can raise — 

Show us our sins forgiven — 
Fill us with all the life of grace — 

Carry us up to heaven. 

Who hath a right like us to sing — 

Us whom His mercy raises ? 
Merry our hearts, for Christ is King ; 

Cheerful are all our faces ; 
Wlio of His love doth once partake 

He evermore rejoices ; 
Melody in our hearts we make — 

Melody with our voices. 

lie that a sprinkled conscience hath — 
He that in God is merry — 

Let him sing psalms, the Spirit saitlu 
Joyful and never weary ; 



774 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Offer the sacrifice of praise, 

Hearty and never ceasing — 
Spiritual songs and anthems raise. 

Honor, and thanks, and blessing. 

Then let us in His praises join — 

Triumph in His salvation ; 
Glory ascribe to love divine, 

Worship and adoration ; 
Heaven already is begun — 

Opened in each believer ; 
Only believe, and still sing on : 

Heaven is ours for ever. 

Charles Wesley. 



CENTENNIAL ODE. 

Break forth in song, je trees. 
As, through your tops, the breeze 

Sweeps from the sea ! 
For, on its rushing wings, 
To your cool shades and springs, 
That breeze a people brings. 

Exiled though free. 

Ye sister hills, lay down 
Of ancient oaks your crown. 

In homage due ; 
These are the great of earth — 
Great, not by kingly birth, 
Great in their well-proved worth — 

Firm hearts and true. 

These are the living lights, 

That from your bold, green heights 

Shall shine afar. 
Till they who name the name 
Of freedom, toward the flame 
Come, as the magi came 

Toward Bethlehem's star. 

Gone are those great and good 
"Who here in peril stood 

And raised their hymn. 
Peace to the reverend dead ! — 
The light, that on their head 
Two hundred years have shed. 

Shall ne'er grow dim. 



Ye temples, that to God 
Rise where our fathers' trod, 

Guard well your trust : 
The faith that dared the sea; 
The truth that made them free; 
Their cherished purity. 

Their garnered dust. 

Thou high and holy One, 
Whose care for sire and son 

All nature fills — 
While day shall break and close, 
While night her crescent shows, 
Oh, let Thy light repose 

On these our hills ! 

John Pierpont. 



THE FIELD OF THE WORLD. 

Sow in the morn thy seed. 
At eve hold not thine hand — 

To doubt and fear give thou no heed — 
Broad-cast it o'er the land. 

Beside all waters sow. 

The highway furrows stock — 
Drop it where thorns and thistles grow 

Scatter it on the rock. 

The good, the fruitful ground 

Expect not here nor there ; 
O'er hill and dale by plots 't is found • 

Go forth, then, everywhere. 

Thou know'st not which may thrive — 

The late or early sown ; 
Grace keeps the precious germs alive. 

When and wherever strown. 

And duly shall appear. 

In verdure, beauty, strength, 

The tender blade, the stalk, the ear 
And the full corn at length. 

Thou canst not toil in vain — '■ 
Cold, heat, and moist, and dry 

Shall foster and mature the graiw 
For garners in the sky. 



WHAT IS PRAYER? 



lib 



Thence, when the glorious end, 

The day of God is come. 
The angel-reapers shall descend, 

And heaven cry '' Harvest home ! " 
James Montgomeey. 



THE BATTLE-SONG OF GUSTAYUS 
ADOLPHUS. 

Feae not, little flock, the foe 
Who madly seeks your overthrow, 

Dread not his rage and power ; 
What though your courage sometimes faints? 
His seeming triumph o'er God's saints 

Lasts hut a. little hour. 

Be of good cheer ; your cause helongs 
To Him who can avenge your wrongs, 

Leave it to Him, our Lord. 
Though hidden from all our eyes. 
He sees the Gideon who shall rise 
To save us, and His word. 



Ad true as God's own word is true, 
Not earth or hell with all their crew 

Against us shall prevail. 
A jest and hy-word are they grown ; 
God is with us, we are His own, 

Our victorv cannot fail. 



Amen, Lord Jesus ; grant our prayer ! 
Great Captain, now Thine arm make hare ; 

Fight for us once again I 
So shall the saints and martyrs raise 
A mighty chorus to Thy praise, 

World without end ! Amen. 



Michael Altenbueg. 
Anonymous Translation. 



(German.) 



THE MAETYES' HYMN. 

Flung to the heedless winds. 
Or on the waters cast, 

The martyrs' ashes, watched, 
Shall gathered he at last; 



And from that scattered dust, 
Around us and ahroad, 

Shall spring a plenteous seed 
Of witnesses for God. 



The Father hath received 

Their latest living breath ; 
And vain is Satan's boast 

Of victory in their death ; 
Still, still, though dead, they speak, 

And trumpet-tongued, proclaim 
To many a wakening land. 

The one availing name. 



MaETIN LUTHEli. 



Translation of William John Fox. 



WHAT LS PEAYER? 

Peayee is the soul's sincere desire, 
Uttered or unexpressed — 

The motion of a hidden fire 
That trembles in the breast. 



Prayer is the burthen of a sigli, 
The falling of a tear — 

The upward glancing of an eye, 
When none but God is near, 



Prayer is the simplest form of speech 

That infant lips can try — 
Prayer the sublimest strains that reach 

The majesty on high. 



Prayer is the contrite sirmer's voice 
Eeturning from his ways, 

While angels in their songs rejoice, 
And cry, " Behold he prays I " 



Prayer is tne Cliristian's vital breath — 
The Christian's native air — 

His watchword at the gates of death — 
He enters heaven with prayer. 



'i76 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



The saints in prayer appear as one 
In word, and deed, and mind, 

While with the Father and the Son 
Sweet fellowsliip they find. 

Nor pi-ayer is made hy man alone — 
The Holy Spirit pleads— 

And Jesus, on the eternal throne, 
Tor siimers intercedes. 



Thou by whom we come to God— 
The life, the truth, the way ! 

The path of prayer Thyself hast trod ; 
Lord, teach us how to pray ! 

James Montgomery. 



" OH, YET WE TRUST." 

Oh, yet we trust that somehow good 
Will be the final goal of ill. 
To pangs of nature, sins of will, 

Defects of doubt and tamts of blood ; 



That nothing walks with aimless feet 
That not one life shall be destroyea. 
Or cast as rubbish to the void, 

When God hath made the pile complete ; 

Tliat not a worm is cloven in vain ; 
That not a moth with vain desire 
Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, 

Or but subserves another's gain. 

Behold ! we know not any thing ; 

I can but trust that good shall fall 
At last— far off— at last, to all— 

And every winter change to spring. 

So runs my dream ; but what am I? 
An infant crying in the night-- 
An infant crying for the fight— 

And with no language but a cry. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



EXHORTATIO]^ TO PBAYEPw. 

Not on a prayerless bed, not on a prayerlcB; 
bed 
Compose thy weary limbs to rest; 
For they alone are blessed 
With balmy sleep 
Whom angels keep ; 
ISTor, though by care oppressed. 
Or anxious sorrow, 
Or thought in many a coil perplexed 
For coming morrow. 
Lay not thy head 
On prayerless bed. 

For who can tell, when sleep thine ejes shall 
close, 
That earthly cares and woes 
To thee may e'er return ' 
Arouse, my soul ! 
Slumber control. 
And let thy lamp burn brightly ; 

So shall thine eyes discern 
Things pure and sightly ; 
Taught by the Spu-it, learn 
Never on prayerless bed 
To lay thine unblest head. 

Hast thou no pining want, or wish, or care, 
That calls for holy prayer ? 
Has thy day been so bright 
That in its flight 
There is no trace of sorrow ? 
And thou art sure to-morrow 
Will be like this, and more 
Abundant ? Dost thou yet lay up thy store 
And still make plans for more ? 
Thou fool! this very night 
Thy soul may wing its flight. 

Hast thou no being than thyself more dear, 
That ploughs the ocean deep, 
And when storms sweep 
The wintry, lowering sky, 
For whom thou wak'st and weepest ? 

Oh, when thy pangs are deepest, 
Seek then the covenant ai-k of prayer ; 
For He that slumbereth not is there— 
His ear is open to thy cry. 



MARY. 



777 



Oh, then, on prayerless bed 
Lay not thy thoughtless head. 

Arouse thee, weary soul, nor yield to slura- 
her, 
Fill in communion blest 

With the elect ye rest — 
Thooe souls of countless number ; 

And with them raise 

The note of praise, 
Reaching from earth to heaven — 

Chosen, redeemed, forgiven ; 

So lay thy happy head, 

Prayer-crowned, on blessed bed. 

Margaret Mercer. 



HYM¥. 



When the angels all are singing 
All of glory ever-springing, 
In the ground of 4aeaven's high graces, 
Where all virtues have their places. 
Oh that my poor soul were near them. 
With an humble faith to hear them ! 



Then should faith, in love's submission. 
Joying but in mercy's blessing, 
Where that sins are in remission 
Sing the joyful soul's confessing — 
Of her comforts high commending, 
All in glory never-ending. 



But, ah wretched sinful creature ! 
How should the corrupted nature 
Of this wicked heart of mine 
Think upon that love divine. 
That doth tune the angels' voices 
While the host of heaven rejoices? 



No I the song of deadly sorrow 

In the night that hath no morrow — 

And their pains are never ended 

That have heavenly powers offended — 

Is more fitting to the merit 

Of ray foul infected spirit. 



Yet while mercy is removing 
All the sorrows of the loving. 
How can faith be full of blindness 
To despair of mercy's kindness — 
While the hand of heaven is giving 
Comfort from the ever-living? 

1^0, my soul, be no more sorry — 
Look unto that life of glory 
Which the grace of faith regardetli, 
And the tears of love rewardeth — 
Where the soul the comfort getteth 
That the angels' music setteth. 

There — when thou art well conducted, 
And by heavenly grace instructed 
How the faithful thoughts to fashion 
Of a ravished lover's passion — 
Sing with saints, to angels nighest, 
Hallelujah in the highest ! 

Gloria in excelsis Domino ! 

NicnoLAS Bbbtoh 



MAEY. 



Hee eyes are homes of silent prayer ; 
Nor other thought her mind admits 
But — ^he was dead, and there he sits 

And He that brought him back is there. 

Then one deep love doth supersede 
All other, when her ardent gaze 
Roves from the living brother's face, 

And rests upon the life indeed. 

All subtle thought, all curious fears, 

Borne down by gladness so complete, 
She bows, she bathes the Saviour'i 
feet 

With costly spikenard and with tears. 

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, 
Whoso loves in higher love endure ; 
What souls possess themselves sc 
pure. 
Or is there blessedness like theirs? 

Alfred Tenntbok 



lis 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



JOY AND PEACE m BELIEYmG. 

So:metimes a light surprises 

The Christian while he sings ; 
It is the Lord, who rises 

"With healing in His wings. 
When comforts are declining, 

He grants the soul again 
A season of clear shining. 

To cheer it after rain. 

In holy contemplation, 

We sweetly then pursue 
The theme of God's salvation. 

And find it ever new ; 
Set free from present sorrow. 

We cheerfully can say. 
E'en let the unknown to-morrow 

Bring with it what it may ! 

It can hring with it nothing 

But He will bear us through ; 
Who gives the lilies clothing 

Will clothe His people too. 
Beneath the spreading heavens, 

No creature hut is fed ; 
And He who feeds the ravens 

Will give His children bread. 

The vine nor fig-tree neither 

Their wonted fruit should bear. 
Though all the fields should wither 

Nor flocks nor herds be there : 
Yet God the same abiding 

His praise shall tune my voice, 
For, while in Him confiding, 

I cannot but rejoice. 

"William Cowpek. 



OHAEITY. 

Could I command, with voice or pen. 
The tongues of angels and of men, 
A tinkling cymbal, sounding brass. 
My speech and preaching would surpass ; 
Vain were such eloquence to me, 
Without the grace of charity. 

Could I the martyr's flame endure. 
Give all my goods to feed the poor — 
Had I the faith from Alpine steep 
To hurl the mountain to the deep — 



What were such zeal, such power, to me 
Without the grace of charity ? 

Could I behold with prescient eye 
Things future, as the tilings gone by — 
Could I all earthly knowledge scan, 
And mete out heaven with a span — 
Poor were the chief of gifts to me 
Without the chiefest — charity. 

Charity suffers long, is kind — 
Charity bears a humble mind 
Rejoices not when ills befall, 
But glories in the weal of all ; 
She hopes, believes, and envies not, 
IN'or vaunts, nor murmurs o'er her lot. 

The tongues of teachers shall be dumb, 
Prophets discern not things to come, 
Knowledge shall vanish out of thought, 
And miracles no more be wrought ; 
But charity shall never fail — 
Her anchor is within the veil. 

Jame8 Montgomk«V 



FOB BELIEVERS. 

Tnou hidden source of calm repose, 
Thou all-sufficient love divine. 

My help and refuge from my foes. 
Secure I am if Thou art mine ! 

And lo! from sin, and grief, and shamej 

I hide me, Jesus, in Thy name. 

Thy mighty name salvation is. 
And keeps my happy soul above ; 

Comfort it brings, and power, and peace, 
And joy, and everlasting love ; 

To me, w^ith Thy dear name, are given 

Pardon, and holiness, and heaven. 

Jesus, my all in all Thou art — 
My rest in toil, my ease in pain ; 

The medicine of my broken heart ; 
In war my peace ; in loss my gain ; 

My smile beneath the tyrant's frown ; 

In shame my glory and my crown : 

In want my plentiful supply ; 

In weakness my almighty power ; 
In bonds my perfect liberty ; 

My light in Satan's darkest hour ; 
In grief my joy unspeakable ; 
My life in death, my heaven in hell. 

Chaeles Weslkk 



i 



\ 



DIVINE LOVE. 



779 



DESIRIXG TO LOVE. 

O LOVE divine, how sweet Thou art ! 
When shall I find my willing heart 

All taken up by Thee ? 
f thirst, and faint, and die to prove 
The greatness of redeeming love, — 

The love of Christ to me. 

Stronger His love than death or hell ; 
Its riches are unsearchable ; 

The first-born sons of light 
Desire in vain its depth to see — 
They cannot reach the mystery, 

The length, and breadth, and height. 

God only knows the love of God — 
Oh that it now were shed abroad 

In this poor stony heart ! 
For love I sigh, for love I pine ; 
This only portion, Lord, be mine — 

Be mine this better part. 

Oh that I could for ever sit 
With Mary at the Master's feet ! 

Be this my happy choice — 
My only care, delight, and bliss. 
My joy, my heaven on earth, be this — 

To hear the bridegroom's voice. 

Oh that, with humbled Peter, I 

Could weep, believe, and thrice reply, 

My faithfulness to prove 1 
Thou knowest, for all to Thee is known — 
Thou knowest, Lord, and Thou alone — 

Thou knowest that Thee I love. 

Oh that I could, with favored John, 
Recline my weary head upon 

The dear Redeemer's breast ! 
From care, and sin, and sorrow free. 
Give me, Lord, to find in Tliee 

My everlasting rest ! 

Thy only love do I require — 
Nothing in earth beneath desire, 

Nothing in heaven above ; 
Let earth and heaven and all things go — 
Give me Thy only love to know, 

Give me Thy only love I 

Charles Wesley. 



DIVINE LOVE. 

Tnotj hidden love of God ! whose height, 
Whose depth unfathomed, no man know&— 

I see from far Thy beauteous light. 
Inly I sigh for thy repose. 

My heart is pained ; nor can it be 

At rest till it finds rest in Thee. 

Thy secret voice invites me still 

The sweetness of Thy yoke to prove ; 

And fain I would ; but though my will 
Seem fixed, yet wide my passions rove ; 

Yet hindrances strew all the way — 

I aim at Thee, yet from Thee stray. 

'T is mercy all, that TJiou hast brought 
My mind to seek her peace in Thee ! 

Yet while I seek, but find Thee not, 
No peace my wandering soul shall see. 

Oh when shall all my wanderings end, 

And all my steps to Theeward tend ? 

Is there a thing beneath the sun 

That strives with Thee my heart to share I 
Ah, tear it thence, and reign alone— 

The Lord of every motion there ! 
Then shall my heart from earth be free, 
When it hath found repose in Thee. 

Oh hide this self from me, that I 

No more, but Christ in me, may live I 

My vile affections crucify, 

Nor let one darling lust survive I 

In all things nothing may I see. 

Nothing desire or seek, but Thee 

O Love, Thy sovereign aid impart 
To save me from low-though ted care ; 

Chase this self-will through all my heart, 
Through all its latent mazes there ; 

Make mo Thy duteous cliiUl, that I 

Ceaseless may " Abba, Father," cry ! 

Ah, no ! ne'er will I backward turn — 
Thine wholly. Thine alone I am ; 

Thrice happy he wlio views with scorn 
Earth's toys, for Thee his constant flame. 

Oh help, that I may never move 

From the blest footsteps of Thy love I 



780 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Each moment draw from earth awaj 
My heart, that lowly waits Thy call ; 

Speak to my inmost soul, and say 
"I am thy love, thy God, thy all ! " 

To feel Thy power, to hear Thy voice, 

To taste Thy love, be all my choice. 

Gerhaed Tersteegex. (German.) 
Translation of John Wesley. 



LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

Ix the hour of my distress. 
When temptations me oppress. 
And when I my sins confess, 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When I lie within my bed, 
Sick at heart, and sick in head, 
And with doubts discomforted. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the house doth sigh and weep. 
And the world is drowned in sleep, 
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the artless doctor sees 
No one hope, but of his fees. 
And his skill runs on the lees, 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When his potion and his pill. 
His or none or little skill, 
Meet for nothing, but to kill— 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me! 

When the passing bell doth toll. 
And the Furies, in a shoal, 
Come to fright a parting soul, 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the tapers now burn blue. 
And the comforters are few, 
/ind that number more than true, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the priest his last hath prayed, 
And I nod to what is said 
Because my speech is now decayed, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me! 



(V^hen, God knows, I 'm tost about 
Either with despair or doubt, 
Yet before the glass be out. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the tempter me pursu'th 
With the sins of all my youth, 
And half damns me with untruth, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me! 

When the flames and hellish cries 
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes. 
And all terrors me surprise. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me! 

When the judgment is revealed. 
And that opened which was sealed— 
When to Thee I have appealed. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

Robert Heebick. 



OH! FEAR NOT THOU TO DIE 

Oh fear not thou to die — 

Far rather fear to live !— for life 

Has thousand snares thy feet to try, 

By peril, pain, and strife. 

Brief is the work of death ; 

But life-— the spirit shrinks to see 

How full, ere heaven recalls thQ breath, 

The cup of woe may be. 

Oh fear not thou to die — 
No more to suffer or to sin — 
No snare without, thy faith to try- 
No traitor heart within , 
But fear, oh rather fear 
The gay, the light, the changeful scene, 
The flattering smiles tliat greet thee here. 
From heaven thy heart to wean. 

Oh fear not thou to die — 

To die and be that blessed one 

Who in the bright and beauteous sky 

May feel his conflict done — 

May feel that never more 

The tear of grief, of shame, shall come. 

For tliousand wanderings from the powei 

Who loved and called thee home. 

4.NONTMOFS 



THE VALEDICTION. 



78? 



FHE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. 

Vital spark of heavenly flame. 
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame ! 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying — 
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying ! 
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife. 
And let me languish into life I 

Hark ! they whisper : angels say, 
Sister spirit, come away ! 
What is this absorbs me quite, 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? 
Tell me, my soul ! can this be death ? 

The world recedes— it disappears ; 

Heaven opens on my eyes ; my ears 

With sounds seraphic ring : 

Lend, lend your wings ! I mount, I fly ! 

grave ! where is thy victory ? 

O death ! where is thy sting ? 

Alexaioeb Popk. 



THE VALEDICTION. 

Vain world, what is in thee ? 
What do poor mortals see 
Which should esteemed be 

Worthy their pleasure ? 
Is it the mother's womb. 
Or sorrows which soon come. 
Or a dark grave and tomb ; 

Which is their treasure - 
How dost thou man deceive 

By thy vain glory? 
Why do they still believe 

Thy false history ? 

Is it children's book and rod. 
The laborer's heavy load. 
Poverty undertrod, 

The world desireth ? 
Is it distracting cares. 
Or heart-tormenting fears, 
Or pining grief and tears, 

Which man requireth ? 



Or is it youthful rage, 

Or childish toying ? 
Or is decrepit age 

Worth man's enjoying? 

Is it deceitful wealth. 

Got by care, fraud, or stealthy 

Or short, uncertain health. 

Which thus befool men ? 
Or do the serpent's lies. 
By the world's flatteries 
And tempting vanities, 

Still overrule them? 
Or do they in a dream 

Sleep out their season ? 
Or borne down by lust's stream, 

Which conquers reason? 

The silly lambs to-day 
Pleasantly skip and play, 
Whom butchers mean to slay, 

Perhaps to-morrow ; 
In a more brutish sort 
Do careless sinners sport, 
Or in dead sleep still snort. 

As near to sorrow ; 
Till life, not well begun, 

Be sadly ended. 
And the web they have spun 

Can ne'er be mended. 

What is the time that 's gone, 
And what is that to come ? 
Is it not now as none ? 

The present stays not. 
Time posteth, oh how fast ! 
Unwelcome death makes haste ; 
None can call back what 's past — 

Judgment delays not ; 
Though God bring in the light, 

Sinners awake not— 
Because hell '^ out of sight. 

They sin forsake not. 

Man walks in a vain show ; 
They know, yet will not know ; 
Sit still when they should go — 

But run for shadows, 
While they might taste and know 
The living streams that flow, 
And crop the flowers that grow, 

In Christ's sweet metidows. 



782 



POEMS OF RELIGIOK 



Life 's better slept away 

Than as they use it ; 
Tn sin and drunken play 

Vain men abuse it. 

Malignant world, adien! 
Where no foul vice is new — 
Only to Satan true, 

God still offended ; 
Though taught and warned by God, 
And His chastising rod, 
Keeps still the way that 's broad, 

!N'ever amended. 
Baptismal vows some make, 

But ne'er perform them ; 
If angels from heaven spake, 

'Twould not reform them. 

They dig for hell beneath, 
They labor hard for death, 
Run themselves out of breath 

To overtake it. 
Hell is not had for naught, 
Damnation 's dearly bought. 
And with great labor sought — 

They '11 not forsake it. 
Their souls are Satan's fee — 

He '11 not abate it. 
Grace is refused that 's free — 

Mad sinners hate it. 

Vile man is so perverse. 

It 's too rough work for verse 

His badness to rehearse, 

And show his folly ; 
He '11 die at any rates— 
He God and conscience hates, 
Yet sin he consecrates. 

And calls it holy. 
The grace he '11 not endure 

"Which would renew him — 
Constant to all, and sure, 

Which will undo him. 

His head comes first at birth, 
And takes root in the earth — 
As nature shooteth forth, 

His feet grow highest, 
To kick at all above. 
And spurn at saving love ; 
His God is in his grove, 

Because it 's nighost ; 



He loves this world of strife. 
Hates that would mend it: 

Loves death that 's called life. 
Fears what would end it. 

All that is good he 'd crush, 
Blindly on sin doth rush — 
A pricking thorny bush, 

Such Christ was crowned with ; 
Their worship 's like to this— 
The reed, the Judas kiss : 
Such the religion is 

That these abound with ; 
They mock Christ with the knee 

Whene'er they bow it — 
As if God did not see 

The heart, and know it. 

Of good they choose the least, 
Despise that which is best — 
The joyful, heavenly feast 

Which Christ would give them ; 
Heaven hath scarce one cold wish ; 
They live unto the flesh ; 
Like swine they feed on wash — 

Satan doth drive them. 
Like weeds, they grow in mire 

Which vices nourish — 
Where, warmed by Satan's firo. 

All sins do flourish. 

Is this the world men choose. 
For which they heaven refuse, 
And Christ and grace abuse. 

And not receive it? 
Shall I not guilty be 
Of this in some degree. 
If hence God would me free. 

And I 'd not leave it? 
My soul, from Sodom fly. 

Lest wrath there find thee ; 
Thy refuge-rest is nigh — 

Look not behind thee ! 

There 's none of this ado, 
l^one of tlie hellish crew ; 
God's promise is most true — 

Boldly believe it. 
My friends are gone before. 
And I am near the shore ; 
My soul stands at the door — 

Lord, receive it 



THOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE. 



18'6 



It trusts Christ and His merits— 

The dead He raises ; 
Join it with blessed spirits 

Who sing Thy praises. 

EiCHARD Baxter. 



HYMN. 



TViiEN rising from the ted of death, 
O'erwhehned with guilt and fear, 

I see my Maker face to face, 
Oh, how shall I appear ? 

If yet while pardon may be found, 

And mercy may be sought, 
My heart with inward horror shrinks. 

And trembles at the thought — 

When Thou, Lord, shalt stand dis- 
closed 

In majesty severe, 
And sit in judgment on my soul. 

Oh, how shall I appear ? 

But Thou hast told the troubled mind 

Who does her sins lament. 
The timely tribute of her tears 

Shall endless woe prevent. 

Then see the sorrows of my heart 

Ere yet it be too late, 
And hear my Saviour's dying groans 

To give those sorrows weight. 

For never shall my soul despair 

Her pardon to procure. 
Who knows Thine only Son has died 

To make her pardon sure. 

Joseph Addison. 



HYMN. 



Brother, thou art gone before us, 

And thy saintly soul is flown 
Whore tears are wiped from every eye, 

Ani sorrow is unknown — 
From the burden of the flesh, 

And from care and sin released, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest. 



The toilsome way thou 'st travelled o'er, 

And hast borne the heavy load ; 
But Christ hath taught thy wandering fee< 

^To reach His blest abode. 
Thou 'rt sleeping noAv. like Lazarus, 

On his Father's faithful breast, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

.And the weary are at rest. 

Sin can never taint thee now. 

Nor can doubt thy faith assail ; 
Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ 

And the Holy Spirit fail. 
And there thou 'rt sure to meet the good, 

Whom on earth thou lovest best. 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary arc at rest. 

" Earth to earth, and dust to dust," 

Thus the solemn priest hath said — 
So we lay the turf above thee now. 

And seal thy narrow bed ; 
But thy spirit, brother, soars away 

Among the faithful blest. 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest. 

And when the Lord shall summon us 

Whom thou now hast left behind. 
May we, untainted by the world. 

As sure a welcome find ; 
May each, like thee, depart in peace. 

To be a glorious, happy guest 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest. 

Henry Hart Milman. 



THOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE. 

Thou art gone to the grave — we no longer 
deplore thee. 
Though sorrows and darkness encompass 
the tomb ; 
The Saviour has passed through its portals 
before thee. 
And the lamp of His love is thy guide 
through the gloom. 



784 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Thou art gone to the grave — we no longer 
behold thee, 
Nov tread the rough path of the world by 
thy side ; 
Bat the wide arms of mercy are spread to en- 
fold thee, 
And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has 
died. 

Thou art gone to the grave — and, its mansion 
forsaking. 
Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt lingered 
long, 
But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on 
thy waking. 
And the song which thou heard' st was the 
seraphim's'song. 

rhou art gone to the grave — but 't were wrong 
to deplore thee, 
When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, 
thy guide ; 
[le gave thee, and took thee, and soon will 
restore thee, 
Where death hath no sting, since the Sa- 
viour hath died. 

Reginald Hebeb. 



DEATH. 

Ah, lovely appearance of death ! 

What sight upon earth is so fair ? 
ISTot all the gay pageants that breathe 

Can with a dead body compare ; 
With solemn delight I survey 

The corpse, when the spirit is fled— 
In love with the beautiful clay, 

And longing to lie in its stead. 

How blest is our brother, bereft 

Of all that could burden his mind ! 
How easy the soul that has left 

This wearisome body behind ! 
Of evil incapable, thou. 

Whose relics with envy I see — 
No longer in misery now, 

No longer a sinner like me. 



This earth is affected no more 

With sickness, or shaken with pain : 
The war in the members is o'er, 

And never shall vex him again ; 
No anger henceforward, or shame, 

Shall redden this innocent clay ; 
Extinct is the animal flame, 

And passion is vanished away. 

This languishing head is at rest — 

Its thinking and aching are o'er ; 
This quiet, immovable breast 

Is heaved by affliction no more ; 
This heart is no longer the seat 

Of trouble, and torturing pain ; 
It ceases to flutter and beat — 

It never shall flutter again. 

The lids he so seldom could close. 

By sorrow forbidden to sleep — 
Sealed up in their mortal repose. 

Have strangely forgotten to weep ; 
The fountains can yield no supplies — 

These hoUows from water are free ; 
The tears are all wiped from these ejef\ 

And evil they never shaU see. 

To mourn and to suffer is mine, 

While bound in a prison I breathe, 
And stil] for deliverance pine, 

And press to the issues of death ; 
What now with my tears I bedew 

Oh might I this moment become ! 
My spirit created anew. 

My flesh be consigned to the tomb ! 

Charles Wesley 



A DIPvGE. 



"Earth to earth, and dust to dust I 
Here the evil and the just. 
Here the youthful and the old^ 
Here the fearful and the bold. 
Here the matron and the maid, 
In one silent bed are laid ; 
Here the vassal and the king 
Side by side lie withering ; 
Here the sword and sceptre rust — 
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust ! " 



I 



FOR A WIDOWER OR WIDOW. 



785 



Age on age shall roll along 
O'er this pale and mighty throng ; 
Those that wept thera, they that weep, 
All shall with these sleepers sleep ; 
Brothers, sisters of the worm, 
Summer's sun, or winter's storm. 
Song of peace, or battle's roar 
Ne'er shall break their slumbers more ; 
Death shall keep his sullen trust — 
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust ! " 



But a day is coming fast — 
Earth, thy mightiest and thy last ! 
It shall come in fear and wonder, 
Heralded by trump and thunder ; 
It shall come in strife and toil. 
It shall come in blood and spoil ; 
It shall come in empire's groans. 
Burning temples, ruined thrones ; 
Then, ambition, rue thy lust ! 
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust! " 



Then shall come the judgment sign; 
In the east the king shall shine. 
Flashing from heaven's golden gate — 
Thousands, thousands, round His state- 
Spirits with the crown and plume ; 
Tremble then, thou sullen tomb ! 
Heaven shall open on thy sight, 
Earth be turned to living light — 
Kingdom of the ransomed just — 
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust." 



Then thy mount, Jerusalem, 
Shall be gorgeous as a gem ! 
Then shall in the desert rise 
Fruits of more than Paradise ; 
Earth by angel feet be trod — 
One great garden of her God ! 
Till are dried the martyr's tears. 
Through a thousand glorious years ! 
Now in hope of Him we trust — 
Earth to earth, and dust to dust." 

George Croly. 



103 



FOR A WIDOWER OR WIDOW 

DEPEIVED OF A LOVING YOKEFELLOW. 

How near me came the hand of death, 
When at my side he struck my dear. 
And took away the precious breath 
Which quickened my beloved peer ! 
How helpless am I thereby made — 
By day how grieved, by night how sad 
And now my life's delight is gone, 
Alas, how am I left alone ! 

The voice which I did more esteem 
Than music in her sweetest key. 
Those eyes which unto me did seem 
More comfortable than the day — 

Those now by me, as they have been, 
Shall never more be heard or seen ; 
But what I once enjoyed in them 
Shall seem hereafter as a dream. 

All earthly comforts vanish thus— 
So little hold of them have we 
That we from them or they from us 
May in a moment ravished be ; 
Yet we are neither just nor wise 
If present mercies we despise. 
Or mind not how there may be made 
A thankful use of what we had. 

I therefore do not so bemoan, 
Though these beseeming tears I drop, 
The loss of my beloved one 
As they that are deprived of hope; 
But in expressing of my grief 
My heart receiveth some relief, 
And joyeth in the good I liad. 
Although my sweets are bitter made. 

Lord, keep me foithful to the trust 
Which my dear spouse reposed in me I 
To him now dead preserve me just 
In all that should performed be ; 

For thougli our being man and wife 

Extendeth only to this life, 
Yet neither life nor death should end 
The being of a faithful friend. 



r86 



POEMS OF RELIGIO^\ 



Those helps which I through him enjoyed, 
Let Thy continual aid supply — 
That, though some hopes in him are void, 
I always may on Thee rely ; 

And whether I shall wed again, 

Or in a single state remain, 
Unto Thine honor let it be. 
And for a blessing unto me. 

George "Withee. 



THEY ARE ALL GOl^E. 

They are all gone into the world of light. 

And I alone sit lingering here ! 
Their very memory is fair and bright. 
And my sad thoughts doth clear ; 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast. 

Like stars upon some gloomy grove — 
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest 
After the sun's remove. 

I see them walking in an air of glory. 

Whose light doth trample on my days— 
My days which are at best but dull and hoary. 
Mere glimmering and decays. 

holy hope ! and high humility — 

High as the heavens above ! 
These are your walks, and you have showed 
them me 
To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous death —the jewel of the just- 
Shining nowhere but in the dark ! 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust. 
Could man outlook that mark ! 

lie that hath found some fledged bird's nest 
may know, 
At first sight, if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair dell or grove he sings in now. 
That is to him unknown. 

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams 

Call to the soul when man doth sleep. 
So some strange thoughts transcend our 
wonted tliemes, 
And into glory peep. 



If a star were conflned into a tomb. 

Her captive flames must needs burn there, 
But when the hand that locked her up g^vel 
room. 
She '11 shine through all the sphere. 

O Father of eternai life, and all 

Created glories under Thee ! 
Eesume thy spirit from this world of thrall 
Into true liberty. 

Either disperse these mists, which blot and 
fill 
My perspective still as they pass ; 
Or else remove me hence unto that hill 
Where I shall need no glass. 

Henry VAronAN. 
♦ 



EACH SOEROWFUL MOURNEB 

Each sorrowful mourner, je silent I 
Fond mothers, give over your weeping 1 
I>ror grieve for those pledges as perishe«l- - 
This dying is life's reparation. 

'Now take him, earth, to thy keeping, 
And give him soft rest in thy bosom ; 
I lend thee the frame of a Christian— 
I entrust thee the generous fragments. 

Thou holily guard the deposit- 
He will well. He will surely, require it, 
Who, forming it, made its creation 
The type of His image and likeness. 

But until the resolvable body 
Thou recallest, God, and reformest, 
What regions, unknown to the mortal. 
Dost Thou will the pure soul to inhabit ? 

It shall rest upon Abraham's bosom. 
As the spirit of blest Eleazar, 
Whom, afar in that Paradise, Dives 
Beholds from the flames of his torments. 

We follow Thy saying, Redeemer, 
Whereby, as on death Thou wast trampling 
The thief. Thy companion. Thou willedst 
To tread in Thy footsteps and triumph. 



GOD THE EVERLASTING LIGHT OF THE SAINTS ABOVE. -787 



To the faithful the bright way is open, 
Benceforward, to Paradise leading, 
And to that blessed grove we have access 
Whereof man was bereaved by the serpent. 

Thou leader and guide of Thy people, 
Give command that the soul of Thy servant 
May have holy repose in the country 
Whence, exile and erring, he wandered. 

We will honor the place of his resting 

With violets and garlands of flowers, 

And will sprinkle inscription and marble 

With odors of costliest fragrance. 

AuRELius Prudentitis. (Latin.) 
rranslation of John Mason Neale. 



A LITTLE WHILE. 

Beyond the smiling and the weeping 

I shall be soon ; 
Beyond the waking and the sleeping, 
Beyond the sowing and the reaping, 
I shall be soon. 
LovCy rest^ and home! 
Sweet hope I 
Lord^ tarry not^ 'but come. 

Beyond the blooming and the fading 

I shall be soon ; 
Beyond the shining and the shading, 
Beyond the hoping and the dreading, 
I shall be soon. 
Love^ rest^ and home! 
Sweet hope ! 
Lord^ tarry not,, hut come. 

Beyond the rising and the setting 

I shall be soon ; 
Beyond the calming and the fretting, 
Beyond remembering and forgetting, 
I shall be 8oon. 
Love,, rest,, and home ! 
Sweet hope ! 
Lord,, tarry not,, tut come. 

Beyond the gathering and the strowing 
I shall be soon ; 



Beyond the ebbing and the flowing, 
Beyond the coming and the going, 
I shall be soon. 
" Love^ rest,, and home ! 
Sweet hope ! 
Lord,, tarry not,, lut come. 

Beyond the parting and the meetirg 

I shall be soon ; 
Beyond the fareweU and the greeting, 
Beyond this pulse's fever beating, 
I shall be soon. 
Love, rest,, and home! 
Sweet hope ! 
Lord,, tarry not,, liit come. 

Beyond the frost chain and the fever 

I shall be soon ; 
Beyond the rock waste and the river, 
Beyond the ever and the never, 
I shall be soon. 
Love,, rest,, and home! 
Sweet hope ! 
Lord,, tarry not,, hut come, 

HOEATIU8 BONAE. 



GOD THE EVERLASTma LIGHT OF 
THE SAIISTTS ABOVE. 

Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, 

With all your feeble light ; 
Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, 

Pale empress of the night. 

And thou, refulgent orb of day, 

In brighter flames arrayed. 
My sou], that springs beyond thy spherts 

No more demands thine aid. 

Ye stars are but the shining dust 

Of my divine abode. 
The pavement of those heavenly courta 

Where I shall reign with God. 

The Father of eternal light 
Shall there His beams display. 

Nor shall one moment^s darkness mix 
With that unvaried day. 



?88 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Ko more the drops of piercing grief 

Shall swell into mine eyes, 
]N"or the meridian sun decline 

Amidst those brighter skies. 

There all the millions of His saints 

Shall in one song unite, 
And each the hliss of all shall view 

With infinite delight. 

Philip Doddeidge. 



THE HEAYEIN-LY CAKAAK 

Theee is a land of pure delight, 
Where saints immortal reign ; 

Infinite day excludes the night, 
And pleasures banish pain. 

There everlasting spring abides, 
And never- withering flowers ; 

Death, like a narrow sea, divides 
This heavenly land from ours. 

Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood 
Stand dressed in living green ; 

So to the Jews old Canaan stood, 
While Jordan rolled between. 

But timorous mortals start and shrink 

To cross this narrow sea, 
And linger shivering on the brink, 

And fear to launch away. 

Oh ! could we make our doubts remove, 
Those gloomy doubts that rise, 

And see the Canaan that we love 
With unbeclouded eyes — 

Could we but climb where Moses stood, 

And view the landscape o'er, 
Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold 
flood, 
Should fright us from the shore. 

Isaac Watts. 



THE KEW JERUSALEM; 

OR, THE soul's BEEATHING AFTEE THE HRA^ 
ENLY COUNTEY. 



" Since Christ's fair truth needs no man's art, 
Take this rude song in better part."*' 



mothee dear, Jerusalem, 

When shall I come to thee ? 
When shall my sorrows have an end— 

Thy joys when shall I see ? 
O happy harbor of God's saints ! 

O sweet and pleasant soil ! 
In thee no sorrows can be found— 

!^^o grief, no care, no toil. 

In thee no sickness is at all, 

No hurt, nor any sore ; 
There is no death nor ugly night, 

But life for evermore. 
N'o dimming cloud o'er shadows theo, 

jSTo cloud nor darksome night, 
But every soul shines as the sun — 

For God himself gives light. 

There lust and lucre cannot dwell, 

There envy bears no sway ; 
There is no hunger, thirst, nor heat, 

But pleasures every way. 
Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 

Would God I were in thee ! 
Oh! that my sorrows had an end, 

Thy joys that I might see ! 

No pains, no pangs, no grieving grie^ 

No woeful night is there; 
No sigh, no sob, no cry is heard — 

No well-away, no fear. 
Jerusalem the city is 

Of God our king alone ; 
The lamb of God, the light thereof, 

Sits there upon His throne. 

God ! that I Jerusalem 

With speed may go behold ! 
For why ? the pleasures there abonnd 

Which here cannot be told. 
Thy turrets and thy pinnacles 

With carbuncles do shine-^ 
With jasper, pearl, and chrysolite. 

Surpassing pure and fine. 



THE NEW JERUSALEM. 



789 



Thy houses are of ivorv, 

Thy windows crystal clear, 
Thy streets are laid with beaten gold — 

There angels do appear. 
Thy walls are made of precious stone, 

Thy bulwarks diamond square. 
Thy gates are made of orient pearl — 

O God I if I were there ! 

Within thy gates nothing can come 

That is not passing clean ; 
No spider's web, no dirt, nor dust, 

No filth may there be seen. 
Jehovah, Lord, now come away, 

And end my griefs and plaints — 
Cake me to Thy Jerusalem, 

And place me with Thy saints ! 

Who there are crowned with glory great, 

And see God face to face, 
They triumph still, and aye rejoice — 

Most happy is their case. 
But we that are in banishment. 

Continually do moan ; 
We sign, we mourn, we sob, we weep — 

Perpetually we groan. 

Our sweetness mixed is with gall. 

Our pleasures are but pain. 
Our joys not worth the looking on — 

Our sorrows aye remain. 
But there they live in such delight, 

Such pleasure and such play. 
That unto them a thousand years 

Seems but as yesterday. 

O my sweet home, Jerusalem ! 

Thy joys when shall I see — 
The king sitting upon His throne. 

And thy feUcity ? 
Thy vineyards, and thy orchards. 

So wonderfully rare, 
Are furnished with all kinds of fruit. 

Most beautifully fair. 

Thy gardens and thy goodly walks. 

Continually are green ; 
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers 

As nowhere else are seen. 
There cinnamon and sugar grow, 

There nard and balm abound ; 
No tongue can tell, no heart can think, 

The pleasures there are found. 



There nectar and ambrosia spring — 

There music 's ever sweet ; 
There many a fair and dainty thing 

-Are trod down under feet. 
Quite through the streets, with pleasant 
sound. 
The flood of hfe doth flow ; 
Upon the banks, on every side. 
The trees of life do grow. 

These trees each month yield ripened 
fruit — 

For evermore they spring; 
And all the nations of the world 

To thee their honors bring. 
Jerusalem, God's dwelling-place 

Full sore I long to see ; 
Oh ! that my sorrows had an end, 

That I might dwell in thee! 

There David stands, with harp in hand, 

As master of the choir ; 
A thousand times that man were blest 

That might his music hear. 
There Mary sings *' Magnificat," 

With tunes surpassing sweet ; 
And all the virgins bear their part, 

Singing about her feet. 

" Te Deum " doth St. Ambrose sing, 

St. Austin doth the like ; 
Old Simeon and Zacharie 

Have not their songs to seek. 
There Magdalene hath left her moan, 

And cheerfully doth sing, 
With all blest saints whose harmony 

Through every street doth ring. 

Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 

Thy joys fain would I see; 
Come quickly. Lord, and end my grie£ 

And take me home to Thee ; 
Oh I paint Thy name on my forehead, 

And take me hence away. 
That I may dwell with Thee in bliss, 

And sing Thy praises aye. 

Jerusalem, the happy home — 

Jehovah's throne on high! 
O sacred city, queen, and wife 

Of Christ eternally! 



790 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



coiiie.y queen with glory clad, 
With honor and degree. 

All fair thou art, exceeding bright— 
IsTo spot there is in thee ! 

1 long to see Jerusalem, 
The comfort of us all ; 

For thou art fair and beautiful — 

ITone ill can thee befall. 
In thee, Jerusalem, I say, 

ISTo darkness dare appear — 
No night, no shade, no winter foul — 

No time doth alter there. 

No candle needs, no moon to shine. 

No glittering star to light; 
For Christ, the king of righteousness, 

For ever shineth bright. 
A lamb unspotted, white and pure, 

To thee doth stand in lieu 
Of light — so great the glory is 

Thine heavenly king to view. 

He is the King of kings, beset 

In midst His servants' sight ; 
And they. His happy household all, 

Do serve Him day and night. 
There, there the choir of angels sing — 

There the supernal sort 
Of citizens, which hence are rid 

From dangers deep, do sport. 

There be the prudent prophets all. 

The apostles six and six, 
The glorious martyrs in a row, 

And confessors betwixt. 
There doth the crew of righteous men 

And matrons all consist — 
Young men and maids that here on earth 

Their pleasures did resist. 

The sheep and lambs, that hardly 'scaped 

The snare of death and hell. 
Triumph in joy eternally, 

Whereof no tongue can tell ; 
And though the glory of each one 

Doth differ in degree. 
Yet is the joy of all alike 

And common, as we see. 

There love and charity do reign. 

And Christ is all in all, 
Whom they most perfectly behold 

In joy celestial. 



They love, they praise — they praise, the\ 
love ; 

They "Holy, holy," cry; 
They neither toil, nor faint, nor end, 

But laud continually. 

Oh ! happy thousand times were 1, 

If, after wretched days, 
I might with listening ears conceive 

Those heavenly songs of praise, 
Which to the eternal king are sung 

By happy wights above — 
By saved souls and angels sweet, 

Wiic love the God of love. 

Oh ! passing happy were my state. 

Might I be worthy found 
To wait upon my God and king. 

His praises there to sound ; 
And to enjoy my Christ above, 

His favor and His grace. 
According to His promise made, 

Which here I interlace: 



1 



"0 Father dear," quoth he, "let tl.enj 

Which Thou hast put of old 
To me, be there where lo ! I am — 

Thy glory to behold ; 
Which I with Thee, before the world 

Was made in perfect wise, 
Have had — from whence the fountain greal 

Of glory doth arise." 

Again : "If any man will serve 

Thee, let him follow me ; 
For where I am, he there, right sure, 

Then shall my servant be." 
An'd still : " If any man loves me. 

Him loves my father dear. 
Whom I do love — to him myself 

In glory will appear." 

Lord, take away my misery, 

That then I may be bold 
With Thee, in Thy Jerusalem^ 

Thy glory to behold ; 
And so in Zion see my king, 

My love, my Lord, my all — 
Where now as in a glass I see, 

There face to face I shall. 



THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OF THE CHURCH. 



791 



Oh ! blessed are the pure in heart — 

Their sovereign they shall see ; 
O ye most happy, heavenly wights, 

Which of God's household be! 
O Lord, with speed dissolve my bands, 

These gins and fetters strong ; 
For I have dwelt within the tents 

Of Kedar over long. 

Yet search me, Lord, and find me out ! 

Fetch me Thy fold unto, 
That all Thy angels may rejoice, 

While all Thy will I do. ' 
O mother dear ! Jerusalem ! 

When shall I come to thee ? 
When shall my sorrows have an end. 

Thy joys when shall I see ? 

Yet once again I pray Thee, Lord, 

To quit me from all strife. 
That to Thy hill I may attain. 

And dwell there all my life — 
With cherubims and seraphims 

And holy souls of men. 
To sing Thy praise, God of hosts ! 

Forever and amen ! 

A^ONYMOITS. 



PEACE. 



My soul, there is a country 

Afar beyond the stars. 
Where stands a winged sentry, 

All skilful in the wars. 
There, above noise and danger. 

Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles. 
And One born in a manger 

Commands the beauteous files. 
He is thy gracious friend, 

And (0 my soul awake !) 
Did in pure love descend. 

To die here for thy sake. 
If thou canst get but thither, 

There grows the flower of peace — 
The rose that cannot wither— 

Thy fortress, and thy ease. 
Leave, then, thy foolish ranges ; 

For none can thee secure. 
But One who never changes — 

Thy God, thy life, thy cure. 

Henby Vafqhan 



OF HEAVEN. 

]^EAXJTEOus God! uncircumscribcd treasure 
Of an eternal pleasure ! 
Thy throne is seated far 
Above the highest star, 
Where Thou preparest a glorious place, 
Within the brightness of Thy face, 
For every spirit 
To inherit 

That builds his hopes upon Thy merit, 
And loves Thee with a holy charity. 
What ravished heart, seraphic tongue or eyes 
Clear as the morning rise, 
Can speak, or think, or see 
That bright eternity. 

Where the great king's transparent throne 
Is of an entire jasper stone ? 
There the eye 
0' the chrysolite, 
And a sky 

Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase — 
And above all. Thy holy face — 
Makes an eternal charity. 
When Thou Thy jewels up dost bind, that day 
Remember us, we pray — 
That where the beryl lies. 
And the crystal 'bove the skies. 
There Thou mayest appoint us place 
Within the brightness of Thy face — 
And our soul 
In the scroll 

Of life and blissfulness enroll. 
That we may praise Thee to eternity, 
lelujah ! 

Jeremy Taylob. 



Al- 



THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OF 
THE CHURCIL 

Hear what God the Lord hath spoken : 

" my people, faint and few, 
Comfortless, afflicted, broken. 

Fair abodes I build for you ; 
Thorns of heartfelt tribulation 

Shall no more perplex your ways; 
You shall name your walls salvation, 

And your gates shall all be praise. 



792 



POEMS or RELIGION. 



"There, like streams that feed the garden, 

Pleasures without end shall flow ; 
For the Lord, your faith rewarding, 

All His bounty shall bestow. 
Still in undisturbed possession 

Peace and righteousness shall reign ; 
Xever shall you feel oppression. 

Hear the voice of war again. 

'" Ye no more your suns descending. 

Waning moons, no more shall see ; 
But, your griefs for ever ending, 

Find eternal noon in me. 
God shall rise, and, shining o'er you 

Change to day the gloom of night ; 
He, the Lord, shall be your glory, 

God your everlasting light." 

William CowrsE. 



THE WILDERIN^ESS TRANSFORMED. 

Amazixg, beauteous change 1 
A world created new ! 
My thoughts with transport range, 
The lovely scene to view ; 

In all I trace. 

Saviour divine. 

The work is Thine — 

Be Thine the praise ! 

See crystal fountains play 
Amidst the burning sands ; 
The river's winding way 
Shines through the thirsty lands ; 

Xew grass is seen. 

And o'er the meads 

Its carpet spreads 

Of living green. 

Where pointed brambles grew, 
Entwined with horrid thorn. 
Gay flowers, for ever new. 
The painted fields adorn — 

The blushing rose 

And lily there. 

In union fair 

Their sweets disclose. 



Where the bleak mountain stood 
All bare and disarrayed. 
See the wide-branching wood 
Diffuse its grateful shade ; 

Tall cedars nod. 

And oaks and pines, 

And elms and vine» 

Confess the God. 

The tyrants of the plain 
Their savage chase give o'er— 
1^0 more they rend the slain, 
And thirst for blood no more : 

But infant hands 

Fierce tigers stroke, 

And lions yoke 

In flowery bands. 

Oh when, Almighty Lord, 
Shall these glad scenes arise, 
To verify Thy word, 
And bless our wondering eyes ! 

That earth may raise, 

With all its tongues. 

United songs 

Of ardent praise. 

Philip Doddbidoe. 






ALL WELL. 

'^o seas again shall sever, 

No desert intervene ; 
No deep, sad-flowing river 

Shall roll its tide between. 

No bleak cliffs, upward towering, 
Shall bound our eager sight ; 

No tempest, darkly lowering, 
Shall wrap us in its night. 

Love, and unsevered union 
Of soul with those we love, 

Nearness and glad communion. 
Shall be our joy above. 

No dread of wasting sickness. 
No thought of ache or pain, 

No fretting hours of weakness, 
Shall mar our peace again. 



YENI, CREATOR. 



79S 



No death, our homes O'ershading, 
Shall e'er our harps unstring ; 

For all is life unfading 
In presence of our king. 

HORATITJS BONAR. 



PEAISE TO GOD. 

Praise to God, immortal praise, 
For the love that crowns our days — 
Bounteous source of every joy, 
Let Thy praise our tongues employ ! 

For the blessings of the field, 
For the stores the gardens yield. 
For the vine's exalted juice, 
For the generous olive's use : 

Flocks that whiten all the plain, 
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain, 
Clouds that drop their fattening dcTvs, 
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse — 

All that spring, with bounteous hand, 
Scatters o'er the smiling land ; 
All that liberal autumn pours 
From her rich o'erflowing stores : 

These to Thee, my God, we owe — 
Source whence all our blessings flow ! 
And for these my soul shall raise 
Grateful vows and solemn praise. 

Yet should rising whirlwinds tear 
From its stem the ripening ear — 
Should the fig-tree's blasted' shoot 
Drop her green untimely fruit — 

Should the vine put forth no more, 
Nor the olive yield her store — 
Though the sickening flocks should fall. 
And the herds desert the stall — 

Should Thine altered hand restrain 
The early and the latter rain, 
Blast each opening bud of joy. 
And the rising year destroy ; 



Yet to Thee my soul should raise 
Grateful vows and solemn praise, 
And, when every blessing 's flown, 
.Love Thee — for Thyself alone. 

Aniva L.etitia Barbauld. 



I 



VENI, CREATOR! 

Ceeator Spirit, by whose aid 
The world's foundations first were laid, 
Come, visit every pious mind ; 
Come, pour .Thy joys on human kind; 
From sin and sorrow set us free. 
And make Thy temples worthy Thee ! 

source of uncreated light. 
The Father's promised Paraclete ! 
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire. 
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire; 
Come, and Thy sacred unction bring, 
To sanctify us while we sing ! 

Plenteous of grace, descend from high, 
Rich in Thy sevenfold energy ! 
Thou strength of His almighty hand 
Whose power does heaven and earth com- 
mand ! 
Proceeding Spirit, our defence. 
Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense. 
And crown'st Thy gifts with eloquence! 

Refine and purge our earthly parts ; 
But oh, inflame and fire our hearts! 
Our frailties help, our vice control — 
Submit the senses to the soul ; 
And when rebellious they are grown, 
Then lay Thy hand, and hold them down. 

Chase from our minds the infernal foo, 
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow ; 
And, lest our feet should step astray, 
Protect and guide us in the way. 

Make us eternal truths receive, 
And practise all that wo believe; 
Give us Thyself, that we may see 
The Father, and the Son, by Thee. 



r94 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Immortal honor, endless fame, 
Attend the almighty Father's name' 
The Saviour Son be glorified, 
Who for lost man's redemption died! 
And equal adoration be, 
Eternal Paraclete, to Thee! 



Paraphrase of John Deydex. 



St. Ambrose. (Latin.) 



HYMN" OF PKAISE. 

Lo! God is here! let us adore. 
And own how dreadful is this place ; 

Let all within us feel His power, 
And silent bow before His face ! 

Who know His power. His grace who prove, 

Serve Him with awe, with reverence love. 

Lo I God is here ! Him day and night 
Th' united choirs of angels sing ; 

To Him, enthroned above all height. 
Heaven's host their noblest praises bring ; 

Disdain not. Lord, our meaner song, 

Who praise Thee with a stammering tongue. 

Gladly the toils of earth we leave. 

Wealth, pleasure, fame, for Thee alone ; 
To Thee our will, soul, flesh, we give — 

Oh take ! oh seal them for Thine own ! 
Thou art the God, Thou art the Lord- 
Be Thou by all Thy works adored ! 

Being of beings ! may our praise 
Thy courts with grateful fragrance fill ; 

Still may we stand before Thy face. 
Still hear and do Thy sovereign will ; 

To thee may all our thoughts arise — 

I^easeless, accepted sacrifice. 

In Thee we move ; all things of Thee 
Are full. Thou source and life of all ; 

Ihou vast unfathomable sea ! 
(Fall prostrate, lost in wonder fall, 

Ye sons of men ! For God is man !) 

All may we lose, so Thee we gain! 



As flowers ineir openmg leaves display, 
And glad drink in the solar fire. 

So may we catch Thy every ray. 
So may Thy influence us inspire — 

Thou beam of the eternal beam! 

Thou purging fire, Thou quickening flame ! 

Gerhard Tersteegen. (Gernma) 
Translation of John Wesley. 



THE LOED THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 

The Lord is my shepherd, nor want shall I 
know ; 

I feed in green pastures, safe-folded I rest; 

He leadeth my soul where the still waters 

flow, 

Pvestores me when wandering, redeems 
when oppressed. 

Through the valley and shadow of death 
though I stray. 
Since Thou art my guardian no evil I fear; 
Thy rod shall defend me. Thy staff be ir.y 
stay ; 
l>^o harm can befall with my comforter 
near. 

In the midst of aflaiction my table is spread ; 
With blessings unmeasured my cup run- 
neth o'er; 
With perfume and oil Thou anointest my 
head ; 
Oh ! what shall I ask of Thy Providence 
more? 

Let goodness and mercy, my bountiful God! 

Still follow my steps till I meet Thee above ; 

I seek, by the path which my forefathers trod 

Through the land of their sojourn, Th> 

kingdom of love. 

James Montgomery 



SOKNET. 

The prayers I make will then be sweet in 

deed. 
If Thou the spirit give by which I pray ; 
My unassisted heart is barren clay, 
That of its native self can nothing feed. 



THE POET'S HYMN FOR HIMSELF. 



795 



Of good and pious works Thou art the seed, 
That quickens only where thou say'st it may. 
Unless Thou show to us Thine own true way, 
No man can find it ; Father ! thou must lead. 
Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into 

my mind 
By w^hich such virtue may in me be bred 
That in Thy holy footstej^s I may tread ; 
The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, 
That I may have the power to sing of Thee, 
And sound Thy praises everlastingly. 

Michael Angelo. (Italian.) 

Translation of Samuel Wordsworth. 



PRAISE. 

Come, oh come ! with sacred lays 
Let us sound the Almighty's praise ! 
Hither bring, in true consent, 
Heart, and voice, and instrument. 
Let the orpharion sweet 
With the harp and viol meet ; 
Let your voices tune the lute ; 
Let not tongue nor string be mute ; 
Nor a creature dumb be found 
That hath either voice or sound ! 

Let such things as do not live, 

In still music praises give ! 

Lowly pipe, ye worms that creep 

On the earth, or in the deep ; 

Loud aloft ycur voices strain. 

Beasts, and monsters of the main ; 

Birds, your warbhng treble sing ; 

Clouds, your peals of thunder ring ; 
Sun and moon, exalted higher, 
And you, stars, augment the choir! 

Come, ye sons of human race. 
In this chorus take your place ! 
And amid this mortal throng 
Be you masters of the song. 
Angels and celestial powers, 
Be the noblest tenor yours I 
Let, in praise of God, the sound 
Run a never-ending round. 

That our holy hymn may be 

Everlasting as is Ue» 



From the earth's vast hollow womb 
Music's deepest bass shall come ; 
Sea and floods, from shore to shore, 
^hall the counter-tenor roar ; 
To this concert, when we sing, 
Whistling winds, your descant bring, 
Which may bear the sound above 
Where the orb of fire doth move, 
And so climb from sphere to sphere, 
Till our song the Almighty hear ! 

So shall lie, from heaven's high tower, 
On tbe earth His blessings shower ; 
All this huge wide orb we see 
Shall one choir, one temple be ; 
There our voices we will rear. 
Till we fill it every where. 
And enforce the fiends, that dwell 
In the air, to sink to hell. 

Then, oh come ! with sacred lays 
Let us sound the Almighty's praise. 
George WixnKii. 



THE POET'S HYMISr FOR HIMSELF. 

Gkeat Almighty, king of heaven. 
And one God in persons three — 
Honor, praise, and thanks be given 
Now and evermore to Thee, 

Who hast more for Thine prepared 
Than by words can be declared ! 

By Thy mercies I was taken 

From the pits of miry clay. 

Wherein, wretched and forsaken. 

Helpless, hopeless too, I lay ; 

And those comforts Thou didst give m^ 
Whereof no man can deprive me. 

By Thy graco the passions, troubles, 
And what most my heart oppressed. 
Have appeared as airy bubbles. 
Dreams, or sufterings but in jest ; 
And with profit that hath ended 
Which my foes for harm intended. 

Those afflictions and those ttrrors, 
Which did plagues at first appear, 
Did but show me what mine erroi*si 
And mine imperfections were; 



r96 



POEMS OF RELIGIO^\ 



But tliey wretched could not make me. 
Kor from Thy affection shake me. 

Therefore as Thy blessed Psalmist, 
When his warfares had an end, 
And his days were at the calmest, 
Psalms and hymns of praises penned — 
So my rest, by Thee enjoyed, 
To Thy praise I have employed. 

Lord ! accept my poor endeavor, 

And assist Thy servant so. 

In well doing to persever. 

That more perfect I may grow — 
Every day more prudent, meeker. 
And of Thee a faithful seeker. 

Let no passed sin or folly, 

Nor a future fault in me, 

Make unfruitful or unholy 

What I offer now to Thee; 

But with favor and compassion 
Cure and cover each transgression. 

And with Israel's royal singer 
Teach me so faith's hymns to sing — 
So Thy ten-stringed law to finger. 
And such music thence to bring — 

That by grace I may aspire 

To Thy blessed angel choir ! 

Geokge Wituer. 



PSALM XIIL 



Lord, how^ long, how long wilt Thou 
Quite forget, and quite neglect me ? 
How long, with a frowning brow, 
Wilt Thou from Thy sight reject me? 



How long shall I seek a way 

Forth this maze of thoughts perplexed, 

Where my grieved mind, night and day, 

Is with thinking tired and vexed? 

How long shall my scornful foe, 

On my fall his greatness placing, 

Build upon my overthrow, 

And be graced by my disgracing? 



III. 
Hear, Lord and God, my cries ! 
Mark my foes' unjust abusing ; 
And illuminate mine eyes. 
Heavenly beams in them infusing- 
Lest my woes, too great to bear, 
And too infinite to number, 
Eock me soon, 'twixt hope and fear, 
Into death's eternal slumber — 

IV. 

Lest my foes their boasting make : 
Spite of right, on him we trample ; 
And a pride in mischief take, 
Hastened by ray sad example. 



As for me, I '11 ride secure 
At Thy mercy's sacred anchor ; 
And, undaunted, wiU endure 
Fiercest storms of wrong and rancour. 

YI. 

These black clouds will overblow— 
Sunshine shall have his returning ; 
And my grief-dulled heart, I know, 
Into mirth shall change his mourning. 
Therefore I '11 rejoice, and sing 
Hymns to God, in sacred measure. 
Who to happy pass will bring 
My just hopes, at His good pleasure. 

Fkancis DAviaojf. 



PSALM XVIIL 



PAET FIRST. 



God, my strength and fortitude, of force 1 

must love Thee ! 
Thou art my castle and defence in my neces 

sity— 
My God, my rock in whom I trust, the 

worker of my wealth 
My refuge, buckler, and my shield, the horn 

of all my health. 

When I sing laud unto the Lord most worthy 

to be served. 
Then from my foes I am right sure th&t J 

shaU be preserved. 



PSALM XXIIl. 



7li7 



The pangs of death did compass me, and 

bound me everywhere ; 
The flowing waves of wickedness did put me 

in great fear. 

The sly and subtle snares of hell were round 

about me set ; 
And for my death there was prepared a deadly 

trapping net. 
I, thus beset with pain and grief, did pray to 

God for grace ; 
And he forthwith did hear my plaint out of 

His holy place. 

Such is His power that in His wrath He made 

the earth to quake — 
Yea, the foundation of the mount of Basan 

for to shake. 
And from His nostrils came a smoke, when 

kindled was His ire ; 
And from His mouth came kindled coals of 

hot consuming fire. 

Tlie Lord descended from above, and bowed 
the heavens high ; 

V/i J underneath His feet He cast the darkness 
of the sky. 

On cherubs and on cherubims full royally He 
rode ; 

And on the wings of all the winds came fly- 
ing all abroad. 

Thomas Steenhold. 



PSALM XIX. 

The heavens declare Thy glory, Lord ! 

In every star Thy wisdom shines ; 
But when our eyes behold Thy word, 

We read Thy name in fairer lines. 

The rolling sun, the changing light, 
And nights and days Thy po;iver confess ; 

But the blest volume Thou hast writ 
Reveals Thy justice and Thy grace. 

Sun, moon, and stars convey Thy praise 
Round the whole earth, and never stand ; 

So, when Thy truth begun its race 
It touched and glanced on every laud. 



Nor shaU Thy spreading gospel rest 

Till through the world Thy truth has run; 

Till Christ has all the nations blest 
That see the light or feel the sun. 

Great sun of righteousness, arise ! 

Bless the dark world with heavenly light ! 
Thy gospel makes the simple wise — 

Thy laws are pure. Thy judgments right. 

Thy noblest wonders here we view. 
In souls renewed, and sins forgiven ; 

Lord, cleanse my sins, my soul renew, 
And make Thy word my guide to heaven i 

Isaac WArrt*. 



PSALM XXIIL 



God, who the universe doth hold 

In His fold. 
Is my shepherd, kind and heedful — 
Is my shepherd, and doth keep 

Me, His sheep. 
Still supplied with all things needftil. 



He feeds me in His fields, which been 

Fresh and green. 
Mottled with spring's flowery painting — 
Thro' which creep, with murmuring crook^ 

Crystal brooks. 
To refresh my spirit's fainting. 

in. 
When my soul from heaven's way 

Went astray. 
With earth's vanities seduced. 
For His name's sake, kindly, He 

Wandering me 
To His holy fold reduced. 

IV. 

Yea, though I stray through death's vale, 

Where His pale 
Shades did on each side enfold me, 
Dreadless, having Tliee for guide, 

Should I bide ; 
For Thy rod and staff uphold mo. 



198 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



V. 
Thou mj board with messes large 

Dost surcharge ; 
My howls full of wine Thou pourest ; 
And before mine enemies' 

Envious eyes 
Balm upon ray head Thou showerest 



Neither dures Thy bounteous grace 

For a space ; 
But it knows no bound nor measure ; 
So my days, to my hfe's end, 

I shall spend 
In Thy courts with heavenly pleasure. 
Feancis Davison. 



PSALM XXIIL 

Lo, my Shepherd's hand divine ! 
Want shall never more be mine. 
In a pasture fair and largo 
He shall feed His happy charge, 
And my couch with tenderest care 
'Midst the springing grass prepare. 

"When I faint with summer's heat, 
He shall lead my weary feet 
To the streams that, still and slow, 
Through the verdant meadows flow. 
He my soul anew shall frame ; 
And, His mercy to proclaim, 
When through devious paths I stray. 
Teach my steps the better way. 

Though the dreary vale I tread 
By the shades of death o'erspread; 
There I walk from terror free, 
While my every wish I see 
By Thy rod and staff supphed— 
This my guard, and that my guide. 

While my foes are gazing on. 
Thou Thy favoring care hast shown ; 
Thou my plenteous board hast spread ; 
Thou with oil refreshed my head ; 
Filled by Thee, my cup o'erflows ; 
For Thy love no limit knows. 
Constant, to my latest end. 
This my footsteps shall attend, 
And ehall bid Thy hallowed dome 
Yield me an eternal home. 

James Msbriok. 



PSALM XXX. 



LoED, to Thee, while I am living, 
Will I sing hymns of thanksgiving ; 
For Thou hast drawn me from a gulf of woes, 
So that my foes 
Bo not deride me. 

n. 
When Thine aid. Lord, I implored, 
Then by Thee was I restored ; 
My mournful heart mth joy thou straight 
didst fill. 

So that none ill 
Doth now betide me. 

ni. 
My soul, grievously distressed, 
And with death well-nigh oppressed, 
From death's devouring jaws. Lord, Thou 
didst save. 

And from the grave 
My soul deliver. 

IV. 

Oh, all ye that e'er had savor 
Of God's everlasting favor, 
Come! come and help me grateful praisc-3 
sing 

To the world's king, 
And my life's giver. 

V. 

For His anger never lasteth. 
And His favor never wasteth. 
Though sadness be thy guest in sullen n'ght, 
The cheerful light 
Will cheerful make thee. 

VI. 

Lulled asleep with charming pleasures, 
And base, earthly, fading treasures, 
Rest, peaceful soul, said I, in happy state- 
No storms of fate 
Shall ever shake thee 

vn. 

For Jehovah's grace unbounded 
Hath my greatness surely founded ; 
And hath my state as strongly fortified. 

On every side, 

As rocky muuiiiams. 



PSALM XLVI. 



799 



vni. 
But a fray His face God turned — 
I was trouuled then, and mourned ; 
rhen thus I poured forth prayers and doleful 
cries, 

"With weeping eyes 
Like watery fountains : 

IX. 

In my blood there is no profit; 

If I die what good comes of it? 
Shall rotten bones or senseless dust express 
Thy thankfulness, 
And works of wonder ? 



Oh then hear me, prayers forthpouring, 
Drowned in tears, from moist eyes show- 
ering; 
Have mercy. Lord, on me ; my burden ease, 
If Thee it please. 
Which I groan under ! 

XI. 

Thus prayed I, and God, soon after. 
Changed my mourning into laughter ; 
Mine ashy sackcloth, mark of mine annoy. 

To robes of joy 

Eftsoons lie turned. 

XII. 

Therefore, harp and voice, cease never, 
But sing sacred lays for ever 
To great Jehovah mounted on the skies, 
Who dried mine eyes 
When as I mourned. 

Francis Davison. 



PSALM XLVI. 

God is the refuge of His saints. 

When storms of sharp distress invade ; 

Ere we can offer our complaints. 
Behold Hira present with His aid. 

Let mountains from their seats be hurled 
Down to the deep, and buried there — 

Convulsions fdiako the solid world ; 
Our faith eball never yield to fear. 



Loud may the troubled ocean roar ; 

In sacred peace our souls abide, 
While every nation, every shore. 

Trembles and dreads tlie swellinfj tide. 

There is a stream whose gentle flow 

Supplies the city -jf our God — 
Life, love, and joy stiU gliding through, 

And watering our divine abode ; 

That sacred stream Thine holy word, 
That all our raging fear controls ; 

Sweet peace Thy promises afford. 

And give new strength to fainting souls. 

Sion enjoys her monarch's love. 
Secure against a threatening hour ; 

!N"or can her firm foundations move. 

Built on His truth, and armed witli power. 

Isaac WAna 



PSALM XLYL 

A SAFE stronghold our God is still, 
A trusty shield and weapon ; 
He '11 help us clear from aU the ill 
That hath us now o'ertaken. 
The ancient prince of heU 
Hath risen with purpose fell ; 
Strong mail of craft and power 
He weareth in this hour — 
On earth is not his fellow. 

By force of arms we nothing can — 
Full soon were we down-ridden ; 
But for us fights the proper man, 
Whom God himself hath bidden. 
Ask ye, Who is this same ? 
Christ Jesus is His name. 
The Lord Zebaoth's son — 
He and no other one 

Shall conquer in the battle. 

And were this world all devils o'er, 
And watching to devour us. 
We lay it not to heart so sore — 
Not they can overpower us. 
And let the prince of ill 
Look grim as e'er he will, 
He harms us not a whit ; 
For why ? His doom is writ — 
A word shall quickly slay him. 



BOO 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



God's word, for all their craft and force, 
One moment will not linger ; 
But, spite of hell, shall have its course — 
'T is written by His finger. 
And though they take our life, 
Goods, honor, children, wife, 
Yet is their profit small ; 
These things shall vanish all — 
The city of God remaineth. 

Martin Ltjthee. (G-erman.) 
I'raiislatioii of Thomas Caeltle. 



PSALM LXy. 



SECOND PAET. 



' T 18 by Thy strength the mountains stand, 

God of eternal power ! 
The sea grows calm at Thy command, 

And tempests cease to roar. 

Thy morning light and evening shade 

Successive comforts bring ; 
Thy plenteous fruits make harvest glad — 

Thy flowers adorn the spring. 

Seasons and times, and moons and hours. 
Heaven, earth, and air, aro Thine ; 

When clouds distil in fruitful showers, 
The author is divine. 

Those wandering cisterns in the sky, 

Borne by the winds around, 
"With watery treasures well supply 

The furrows of the ground. 

The thirsty ridges drink their fill, 

And ranks of corn appear ; 
Thy ways abound with blessings still — 

Thy goodness crowns the year. 

Isaac Watts. 



PSALM LXYI. 

Happy sons of Israel, 
Who in pleasant Canaan dwell, 
FiU the air with shouts of joy — 
Shouts redoubled from the sky. 
Sing the great Jehovah's praise. 
Trophies to His glory raise ; 



Say : How wonderful Thy deeds ! 
Lord, Thy power all power exceeds! 
Conquest on Thy sword doth sit — 
Trembling foes through fear submit. 

Let the many-peopled earth. 
All of high and humble birth. 
Worship our eternal king — 
Hymns unto His honor sing. 
Come, and see what God hath wrotignt ~ 
Terrible to human thought ! 
He the billows did divide, 
WaUed with waves on either side, 
While we passed safe and dry ; 
Then oar souls were rapt with joy. 

Endless His dominion — 
All beholding from His throne. 
Let not those who hate us most. 
Let not the rebellious, boast. 
Bless the Lord ! His praise be sung 
While an ear can hear a tongue ! 
He our feet establisheth ; 
He our souls redeems from death. 

Lord, as silver purified, 
Thou hast with afiliction tried ; 
Thou hast driven into the net. 
Burdens on our shoulders set. 
Trod on by their horse's hooves — 
Theirs whom pity never moves — 
We through fire, with flames embraceiJJ 
We through raging floods have passed ; 
Yet by Thy conducting hand 
Brought into a wealthy land. 

I wiU to Thy house repair. 
Worship, and Thy power declare — 
Ofierings on Thy altar lay, 
All my vows devoutly pay, 
Uttered with my heart and tongue. 
When oppressed with powerful wrong. 
Fatlings I will sacrifice ; 
Incense in perfume shall rise — 
Bullocks, shaggy goats, and rams, 
Ofiered up in sacred flames. 

You who great Jehovah fear, 
Come, oh come, you blest ! and bear 
What for me the Lord hath wrought, 
Then when near to ruin brought. 
Fervently to Him I cried ; 
I His goodness magnified. 
If I vices should afiect, 
Would not He my prayers reject? 



PSALM C. 



801 



But the Lora my prayers liath heard 
Which my tongue with tears preferred. 
Source of mercy be Thou blest, 
That hast granted my request ! 

Geoege Sandys. 



PSALM LXXII. 

FIEST PAET. 

Great God, whose universal sway 
The known and unkno\\Ti worlds obey, 
Now give the kingdom to TLy Son — 
Extend His power, exalt His throne ! 

Thy sceptre well becomes His hands — 
All heaven submits to his commands ; 
His justice shall avenge the poor, 
And pride and rage prevail no more. 

With power he vindicates the just, 
And treads the oppressor in the dust ; 
His worship and His fear shall last 
Till hours and years, and time, be past. 

As rain on meadows newly mown. 
So shall he send His influence down; 
His grace on fainting souls distils, 
Like heavenly dew on thirsty hills. 

The heathen lands that lie beneath 
The shades of overspreading death. 
Revive at His first dawning light. 
And deserts blossom at the sight. 

The saints shall flourish in His days. 
Dressed in the robes of joy and praise; 
Peace, like a river, from his throne, 
Shall flow to nations yet unknown. 

IsAAo Watts. 



PSALM xcn. 

Thou who art enthroned above — 
Thou by whom we live and move I 
Oh how sweet, how excellent, 
Is 't, with tongue and heart's consent. 
Thankful hearts, and joyful tongues, 
To renown Thy name in songs — 
105 



When the morning paints the skies. 
When the sparkling stars arise, 
Thy high ftivors to rehearse, 
Thy firm faith in grateful verse ! 

Take the lute and violin ; 
Let the solemn harp begin — 
Instruments strung with ten strings — 
While the silver cymbal rings. 

From Thy works my joy proceeds; 
How I triumph in Thy deeds ! 
Who Thy wonders can express? 
All Thy thoughts are fathomless — 
Hid from men, in knowledge blind — 
Hid from fools to vice inclined. 
Who that tyrant sin obey, 
Though they spring like flowers in May, 
Parched with heat, and nipped with frost, 
Soon shall fade, forever lost. 

Lord, Thou art most great, most high — 
Such from all eternity. 
Perish shall Thy enemies — 
Rebels that against Thee rise. 
All who in their sins delight 
Shall be scattered by Thy might ; 
But Thou shalt exalt my horn, 
Like a youthful unicorn ; 
Fresh and fragrant odors shed 
On Thy crowned prophet's head. 

I shall see my foe's defeat. 
Shortly hear of their retreat ; 
But the just, like palms, shall flourish 
Which the plains of Judali nourish — 
Like tall cedars mounted on 
Cloud-ascending Lebanon. 
Plants set in Thy court, below 
Spread their roots and upwards grow ; 
Fruit in their old age shal I bring — 
Ever fat and flourishing. 
This God's justice celebrates — 
He, my rock, injustice hates. 

GeOBQB SANDTa 



PSALM 0. 

With one consent let all the eai^lh 
To God their cheerful voices raise — 

Glad homage pav with awful mirth. 
And sing before Him songs of praise — 



iQ2 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Convinced that He is God alone, 
From whom both we aod all proceed — 

We whom He chooses for His own, 
The flock which He vouchsafes to feed. 

Oil enter then His temple gate, 
Thence to his courts devoutly press ; 

And still your grateful hymns repeat, 
And still His name with praises bless. 

For He 's the Lord supremely good, 

His mercy is forever sure ; 
ffis truth, which all times firmly stood, 

To endless ages shall endure. 

Tate and Bbadt. 



ESALM CXYII. 

From all that dwell below the skies 
Let the Creator's praise arise ; 
Let the Redeemer's name be sung 
Through every land, by every tongue. 

Eternal are Thy mercies, Lord — 
Eternal truth attends Thy word ; 
Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, 
Till suns shall rise and set no more. 

Isaac Watts. 



PSALM CXXX. 

From the deeps of grief and fear. 
O Lord ! to Thee my soul repairs ; 
From Thy heaven bow down Thine ear- 
Let Thy mercy meet my prayers : 
Oh! if Thou mark'st 
What's done amiss, 
What soul so pure 
Can see Thy bliss? 

But with Thee sweet mercy stands, 
Sealing pardons, working fear; 
Wait, my soul, wait on His hands — 
Wait, mine eye ; oh ! wait, mine ear I 
If He His eye 

Or tongue affords. 
Watch all His lookh, 
Catch all His words I 



As a watchman waits for day, 
And looks for ligJit, and looks again, 
When the night grows old and gray, 
To be relieved he calls amain ; 
So look, so wait, 

So long mine eyes, 
To see my Lord, 
My sun, arise. 

Wait, ye saints, wait on our Lord — 
For from His tongue sweet mercy flows. 
Wait on His cross, wait on His word — 
Upon that true redemption grows ; 
He will redeem 

His Israel 
From sin and wrath. 
From death and hell. 

PhinEAS FLBTOHBli. 



HYMN, FROM PSALM CXLYIIL 

Begin", my soul, the exalted lay, 
Let each enraptured thought obey, 

And praise the Almighty's name ; 
Lo ! heaven and earth, and seas and sk-iea, 
In one melodious concert rise. 

To sweU the inspiring theme. 



i 



Ye fields of light, celestial plains, 
Where gay transporting beauty reigns, 

Ye scenes divinely fair! 
Your maker's wondrous power proclaim— 
Tell how He formed your shining frame, 

And breathed the fiuid air. 

Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound I 
While all the adormg thrones around 

His boundless mercy sing : 
Let every listening saint above 
Wake aU the tuneful soul of love, 

And touch the sweetest string. 

Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir; 
Thou dazzling orb of liquid fire, 

The mighty chorus aid ; 
Soon as gray evening gilds the plain. 
Thou, moon, protract the melting strain, 

And praise Him in the shade. 



PSALM CXLYIII. 



803 



Thou heaven of heavens, His vast abode, 
Ye clouds, proclaim your forming God ! 

Who called yon worlds from night ; 
" Ye shades, dispel ! " — the Eternal said, 
At once the involving darkness fled, 

And nature sprung to light. 

Whatever a blooming world contains 
That wings the air, that skims the plains. 

United praise bestow ; 
Ye dragons, sound His awful name 
To heaven aloud ; and roar acclaim, 

Ye swelling deeps below ! 

Let every element rejoice ; 

Ye thunders, burst with awful voice 

To Him who bids you roll ; 
His praise in softer notes declare. 
Each whispering breeze of yielding air, 

And breathe it to the soul ! 

To Him, ye graceful cedars, bow ; 
Ye towering mountains, bending low. 

Your great Creator own ! 
Tell, when affrighted nature shook, 
Eow Sinai kindled at His look. 

And trembled at His frown. 

Ye flocks that haunt the humble vale, 
Ye insects fluttering on the gale, 

In mutual concourse rise ; 
Crop the gay rose's vermeil bloom. 
And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume, 

Li incense to the skies ! 

Wake, all ye mountain tribes, and sing — 
Ye plumy warblers of the spring, 

Harmonious anthems raise 
To Him who shaped your finer mould, 
Who tipped your glittering wings with 
gold. 

And tuned your voice to praise ! 

Let man — by nobler passions swayed — 
The feeling heart, the judging head, 

In heavenly praise employ ; 
Spread His tremendous name around, 
Till heaven's broad arch rings back the 
sound, 

Tlie general burst of joy. 



Ye, whom the charms of grandeur please, 
Nursed on the downy lap of ease. 

Fall prostrate at His throne ; 
Ye princes, rulers, all, adore — 
Praise Him, ye kings, who make yc-n: 
power 

An image of His own ! 

Ye fair, by nature formed to movti, 
Oh praise the eternal source of love, 

With youth's enlivening fire ; 
Let age take up the tuneful lay. 
Sigh His blessed name — then soar away, 

And ask an angel's lyre ! 

John Ogilvte. 



PSALM CXLYIII. 

YoiT who dwell above the skies, 

Free from human miseries — 

You whom highest heaven embowers, 

Praise the Lord with all your powers! 

Angels, your clear voices raise — 

Him your heavenly armies praise ; 

Sun and moon, with borrowed light; 

All you sparkling eyes of night ; 

Waters hanging in the air ; 

Heaven of heavens — His praise deciare, 

His deserved praise record, 

He who made you by His word — 

Made you evermore to last. 

Set you bounds not to be passed! 

Let the earth His praise resound ; 

Monstrous whales, and seas profound ; 

Vapors, lightnings, hail, and snow ; 

Storms which, when He bids them, blow; 

Flowery hills and mountains high ; 

Cedars, neighbors to the sky ; 

Trees that fruit in season yield ; 

All the cattle of the field ; 

Savage beasts, all creeping things ; 

All that cut the air with wings; 

You who awful sceptres sway, 

You inured to obey — 

Princes, judges of the earth, 

All of high-and humble birth; 

Youths and virgins flourishing 

In the beauty of your spring ; 

You who bow with age's weight 

You who were but born of late; 



.'i04 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



y 



Praise His name with one consent. 
Oh, how great ! how excellent ! 
Than the earth profounder far, 
Higher than the highest star, 
He will us to honor raise; 
You, His saints, resonnd His praise — 
You who are of Jacob's race, 
And united to His grace ! 

Geobge Sandys. 



HYMN. 



When all Th j mercies, my God, 

My rising soul surveys. 
Transported with the view, I 'm lost 

In wonder, love, and praise. 

O how shall words with equal warmth 

The gratitude declare, 
That glows within my ravished heart?— 

But Thou canst read it there ! 



Thy providence my life sustained, 

And all my wants redrest, 
When in the silent womb I lay, 

And hung upon the breast. 

To all my weak complaints and cries 

Thy mercy lent an ear. 
Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt 

To form themselves in prayer. 

Unnumbered comforts to my soul 

Thy tender care bestowed. 
Before my infant heart conceived 

From whom those comforts flowed. 

When in the shppery paths of youth 

With heedless steps I ran, 
Thine arm unseen conveyed me safe, 

And led me up to man. 

# 
Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths, 

It gently cleared my way, 
And through the pleasing snares of vice, 

More to be feai-ed than they. 



When worn with sickness oft hast Thou 
With health renewed my face, 

And when in sins and sorrows sunk 
Revived my soul with grace. 

Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliBH 
Has made my cup run o'er, 

And in a kind and faithful friend 
Has doubled all my store. 

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts 

My daily thanks employ, 
Nor is the least a cheerful heart, 

That tastes those gifts with joy. 

Through every period of my life 

Thy goodness I 'U pursue. 
And after death in distant worlds 

The glorious theme renew. 

When nature fails, and day and night 
Divide Thy works no more, 

My ever-grateful heart, Lord^ 
Thy mercy shall adore. 

Through all eternity to Thee 

A joyful song I '11 raise ; 
For oh ! eternity 's too short 

To utter all Thy praise. 

JosBpn Addiboh 



HYMK 



How are Thy servants blest, Loixl ? 

How sure is their defence ! 
Eternal wisdom is their guide, 

Their help omnipotence. 

In foreign realms, and lands remote, 

Supported by Thy care, 
Through burning chmes I passed unhurt^ 

And breathed in tainted air. 

Thy mercy sweetened every soil, 

Made every region please ; 
The hoary Alpine hiUs it warmed, 

And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas. 



LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. 



606 



Think, O my sonl, devoutly tliink, 

How with affrighted eyes 
Thou saw^st the wide-extended deep 

In all its horrors rise ! 

Confusion dwelt in every face, 

And fear in every heart, 
Wlien waves on waves, and gulfs in gulfs. 

Overcame tlie pilot's art. 

Yet then from all my griefs, Lord, 

Thy m.ercy set me free ; 
Whilst in the confidence of prayer 

My soul took hold on Thee. 

For though in dreadful whirls we hung, 

High on the broken wave ; 
[ knew Thou wert not slow to hear, 

Nor impotent to save. 

The storm was laid, the winds retired, 

Obedient to Thy will ; 
The sea, that roared at Thy command, 

At Thy command was still. 

In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths. 

Thy goodness I '11 adore — 
And praise Thee for Thy mercies past, 

And humbly hope for more. 

My life, if Thou preserv'st my life, 

Thy sacrifice shall be ; 
And death, if death must be my doom, 

Shall join my soul to Thee. 

Joseph Addison. 



THE CKEATOR AND CREATURES. 

God is a name my soul adores — 
The almighty Three, the eternal One ! 

N"ature and grace, with all their powers. 
Confess the infinite Unknown. 

Prom Thy great self Thy being springs — 

Tliou art Thy own original. 
Made up of uncreated thin<j;s ; 

And self-sutiicience bears them all. 



Thy voice produced the seas and spheres. 
Bid the waves roar, and planets shine ; 
But nothing like Thyself appears 
. Through all these spacious works of Thme. 

Still restless nature dies and grows — 
From change to change the creatures rnn 

Thy being no succession knows, 
And all Thy vast designs are one. 

A glance of Thine runs through the globes, 
Rules the bright worlds, and moves theii 
frame ; 

Broad sheets of light compose Thy robes ; 
Thy guards are formed of living flame. 

Thrones and dominions round Thee fall, 
And worship in submissive forms : 

Thy presence shakes this lower ball, 
This little dwelling-place of worms. 

How shall affrighted mortals dare 

To sing Thy glory or Thy grace- 
Beneath Thy feet we lie so far, 
And see but shadows of Thy face? 

Who can behold the blazing light — 
Who can approach consuming flame ? 

None but Thy wisdom knows Tliy might — 
None but Thy word can speak Thy name, 

Isaac Wato*. 



LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. 

God moves in a mysterious way 

His wonders to perform ; 
He plants His footsteps in the sea, 

And rides upon the etorm. 

Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of never-fiiiling skill, 
He treasures up His bright designs, 

And works His sovereign will. 

Ye fearful saints, fresh coun.ge lake I 
The clou(ts ye so niucn dread 

Are big with mercy, and shall bix>ak 
In blessings on your head. 



806 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 
But trust Him for His grace : 

Behind a frowning providence 
lie hides a smiling face. 

His purposes will ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour ; 
The bud may have a bitter taste, 

But sweet will be the flower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err, 
And scan His work in vain : 

God is His own interpreter, 
And He will make it plain. 

William Cowpee. 



SEAKCH AFTER GOD. 

I SOUGHT Thee round about, Thou my God ! 

In thine abode. 
I said unto the earth : " Speak 1 art thou he? " 

She answered me : 
-^I am not." — I enquired of creatures all, 

In general. 
Contained therein — they with one voice pro- 
claim 
That none amongst them challenged such a 
name. 

[ asked the seas and all the deeps below. 

My God to know ; 
I asked the reptiles, and whatever is 

In the abyss — 
Even from the shrimp to the leviathan 

Enquiry ran ; 
But in those deserts which no line can sound, 
The God I sought for was not to be found. 

I asked the air, if that were he ; but 

It told me no. 
[ from the towering eagle to the wren 

Demanded then 
If any feathered fowl 'mongst them were 
such ; 

But they all, much 
Offended with my question, in full choir 
Answered : " To find thy God thou must look 
hii^her." 



I asked the heavens, sun, moon, and stars- - 
but they 

Said : " We obey 
The God thou seekest." I asked, what eye 
or ear 

Could see or hear — 
What in the world I might descry or know, 

Above, below" ; 
— With an unanimous voice, all these things 

said : 
"We are not God, but we by Him were 
made." 

I asked the world's great universal mass, 

If that God was ; 
Which with a mighty and strong voice re- 
plied, 

As stupefied : 
" I am not He, man ! for know that I 

By Him on high I 

Was fashioned first of nothing ; thus instated 
And swayed by Him, by whom I was created.' 

I sought the court ; but smooth-tongued flat- 
tery there 

Deceived each ear ; 
In the thronged city there was selling, hny j 

Swearing and lying ; 
I' the country, craft in simpleness arrayed — 

And then I naid : 
" Vain is my search, although my pains be 

great — 
Where my God is there can be no deceit." 

A scrutiny within myself I, then. 

Even thus, began : 
" O man, what art thou ? " — What more could 
I say 

Than dust and clay — 
Frail, mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast, 

That cannot last — 
Enthroned to-day, to-morrow in an urn, 
Formed from that earth to which I must re- 
turn? 

I asked myself, what this great God mighl 
be 

That fashioned me; 
I answered : The all-potent, solely immense. 

Surpassing sense — 



ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. 



S07 



IJnspeakable, inscrutable, eternal, 

Lord over all ; 
The only terrible, strong, just, and true. 
Who hath no end, and no beginning knew. 

He is the well of life, for He doth give 

To all that live 
iloit breath and being. He is the creator 

Both of the water. 
Earth, air, and fire. Of all things that sub- 
sist 

He hath the list — 
Jf all the heavenly host, or what earth claims. 
He keeps the scroll, and calls them by their 
names. 

And now, my God, by Thine illumining grace. 

Thy glorious face 
(So far forth as it may discovered be) 

Methinks I see ; 
And though invisible and infinite. 

To human sight 
Thou, in Thy mercy, justice, truth, appear- 

est — 
In which to our weak sense Thou comest 
nearest. 

Oh make us apt to seek, and quick to find, 

Thou God, most kind! 
Give us love, hope, and faith in Thee to trust. 

Thou God, most just I 
Remit all our oftences, we entreat — 

Most good, most great! 
Grant that our willing, though unworthy 

quest 
May, through Thy grace, admit us 'mongst 
the blest. 

TnoMAS Heywood. 



WALKING WITH GOD. 

Oh ! for a closer walk with God, 
A calm and heavenly frame, 

A light to shine upon the road 
That leads me to the Lamb ! 

Where is the blessedness I knew 
When first I saw the Lord? 

Where is the soul-refreshing view 
Of Jesus and His word ? 



W hat peaceful hours I once enj Dyed- 
How sweet their memory stiil ! 

But they have left an aching void 
The world can never fill. 

Eeturn, holy Dove, return ! 

Sweet messenger of rest : 
I hate the sins that made Thee mourn. 

And drove Thee from my breast. 

The dearest idol I have known. 

Whatever that idol* be. 
Help me to tear it from Thy throne, 

A lid worship only Thee. 

William CowPKa. 



ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. 

Can I see another's woe. 
And not be in sorrow too ? 
Can I see another's grief, 
And not seek for kind relief? 

Can I see a falling tear. 
And not feel my sorrow's share ? 
Can a father see his child 
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled ? 

Can a mother sit and hear 
An infant groan, an infant fear? 
No ! no ! never can it be — 
Never, never can it be ! 

And can He who smiles on all, 
Hear the wren with sorrows small, 
Hear the small bird's grief and care 
Hear the woes that infants bear, — 

And not sit beside the nest, 
Pouring pity in their breast ? 
And not sit the cradle near, 
Weeping tear on infant's tear? 

And not sit both night and day, 
Wiping all our tears away ? 
Oh, no! never can it be — 
Never, never can it bo I 



i08 



POEMS OF RELTCtION. 



He doth give His joy to all ; 
He becomes an infant small, 
He becomes a man of woe, 
He doth feel the sorrow too. 

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, 
And thy maker is not nigh ; 
Think not thou canst weep a tear, 
And thy maker is not near. 

Oh ! He gives to us His joy, 
That our griefs He may destroy. 
Till our grief is fled and gone 
He doth sit by ns and moan. 

William Blake. 



HOW GEACIOUS AND HOW WISE." 

How gracious and how wise 

Is our chastising God ! 
And oh ! how rich the blessings are 

Which blossom from His rod ! 

He lifts it up on high 

With pity in His heart. 
That every stroke His children feel 

May grace and peace impart. 

Instructed thus, they bow. 
And own His sovereign sway — 

They turn their erring foc^tsteps back 
To His forsaken way. 

His covenant love they seek, 

And seek the happy bands 
That closer still engage their hearts 

To honor His commands. 

Dear Father, we consent 

To discipline divine ; 
And uiess tiie pains that make our souls 

Still more completely Thine. 

£'H]flH> DoDDBIDGjB. 



GOD IS LOVE. 

All I feel, and hear, and soc, 
God of love, is full of Thee. 

EA.ETH, with her ten thousand flowers; 
Air, with all its beams and showers ; 
Ocean's infinite expanse ; 
Heaven's resplendent countenance- 
All around, and all above. 
Hath this record : God is love. 

Sounds among the vales and hiiis. 
In the woods, and by the rills, 
Of the breeze, and of the bird, 
By the gentle murmur stirred — 
All these songs, beneath, above. 
Have one burden : God is love. 

All the hopes and fears that start 
From the fountain of the heart ; 
All the quiet bliss that lies, 
All our human sympathies — 
These are voices from above, 
Sweetly whispering : God is love. 

Anontmoue 



THE EESIGiTATION. 

God ! whose thunder shakes the sky, 
Whose eye this atom-globe surveys, 

To Thee, my only rock, I fly, — 
Thy mercy in Thy justice praise. 

The mystic mazes of Thy will. 
The shadows of celestial night, 

Are past the power of human skill ; 
But what the Eternal acts is right. 

teach me, in the trying hour — 

When anguish swells the dewy tear- 
To still my sorrows, own Thy power. 
Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear 

If in this bosom aught but Thee, 

Encroaching, sought a boundless swaj 

Omniscience could the danger see, 
And mercy look the cause away. 



I 



CHORUS 



809 



Then why, mj scul, dost thou complain — 
"Why drooping seek the dark recess 'i 

Shake off the melancholy chain ; 
For God created all to bless. 

But ah ! my breast is human still ; 

The rising sigh^ the falling tear, 
My languid vitals' feeble rill, 

The sickness of my soul declare. 

But yet, with fortitude resigned, 
I '11 thank the inflictor of the blow — 

Forbid the sigh, compose my mind, 
Nor let the gush of misery flow. 

The gloomy mantle of the night, 
"Which on my sinking spirit steals. 

Will vanish at the morning light, 
"Which God, my east, my sun, reveals. 
Thomas Chatteeton. 



CHORUS. 

K.ING of kmgs ! and Lord of lords ! 
Thus we move, our sad steps timing 
To o'ir cymbals' feeblest chiming, 
Where Thy house its rest accords. 
Chased and wounded birds are we. 
Through the dark air fled to Thee — 
To the shadow of Thy wings. 
Lord of lords ! and king of kings ! 

Behold, O Lord ! the heathen tread 
The branches of Thy fruitful vine 
That its luxurious tendrils spread 
O'er all the hills of Palestine. . 
And now the wild boar comes to waste 
Even us — the greenest boughs and last, 
That, drinking of Thy choicest dew, 
On Zion's hill in beauty grew. 

No 1 by tlie marvels of Thine hand, 
Thou wilt save Thy chosen land ! 
By all Thine ancient mercies shown, 
By all our fathers' foes o'erthrown ; 
By the Egyptian's car-borne host, 
Scattered on the Red Sea coast — 
By that wide and bloodless slaughter 
Underneath the drowning water. 

Like us, in utter helplessness. 
In their last and worst distress — 



On the sand and sea-weed lying — 
Israel poured her doleful sighing r 
Wiiile before the deep sea flowed, 
And behind fierce Egypt rode — 
To their fathers' God they prayed, 
To the Lord of hosts for aid. 

On the margin of the flood 

"With lifted rod the prophet stood ; 

And the summoned east wind blew. 

And aside it sternly threw 

The gathered waves that took their stand. 

Like crystal rocks, on either hand, 

Or walls of sea-green marble piled 

Round some irregular city wild. 

Then the light of morning lay 
On the wonder-paved way. 
Where the treasures of the deep 
In their caves of coral sleep. 
The profound abysses, where 
Was never sound from upper air. 
Rang with Israel's chanted words : 
King of kings ! and Lord of lords ! 

Then with bow and banner glancing, 

On exulting Egypt came ; 
With her chosen horsemen prancing, 

And her cars on wheels of flame, 
In a rich and boastful ring. 
All around her furious king. 

But the Lord from out His cloud, 
The Lord looked down upon the proud ; 
And the host drave heavily 
Down the deep bosom of the sea. 

With a quick and sudden swell 
Prone the liquid ramparts fell ; 
Over horse, and over car. 
Over every man of war. 
Over Pharaoh's crown of gold. 
The loud tliundering billows rolled. 
As the level waters spread, 
Down they sank — they sank like lead- 
Down sank without a cry or groan. 
And the morning sun, that shone 
On myriads of briglit-armed men, 
Its meridian radiance then 
Cast on a wide sea, heaving, as of yore, 
Against a silent, solitary shore. 

ITkxry Uaut Milmaa. 



5l0 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



THE UOTYERSAL PRAYER. 

DEO OPT. MAX. 

Father of all ! in every age, 

In every clime adored — 
By saint, by savage, and by sage — 

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! 

Thou great ftrst cause, least understood. 

"Who all my sense confined 
To know but this : that Thou art good, 

And that myself am blind ; 

Yet gave me, in this dark estate. 

To see the good from ill ; 
And, binding nature fast in fate. 

Left free the human will. 

What conscience dictates to be done. 

Or warns me not to do. 
This teach me more than hell to shun, 

That more than heaven pursue. 

What blessings Thy free bounty gives 

Let me not cast away — 
For God is paid when man receives : 

To enjoy is to obey. 

Yet not to earth's contracted span 

Thy goodness let me bound. 
Or think Thee Lord alone of man, 

When thousand worlds are round. 

J^et not this weak, unknowing hand 
Presume Thy bolts to throw. 

And deal damnation round the land 
On each I judge Thy foe. 

If I am right, Thy grace impart 

Still in the right to stay ; 
If I am wrong, oh teach my heart 

To find that better way. 

Save me alike from foolish pride 

Or impious discontent, 
At aught Thy wisdom haa denied, 

Or aught Thy goodness lent. 



Teach me to feel another's woe, 

To hide the fault I see — 
That mercy I to others show, 

That mercy show to me. 

Mean though I am, not wholly so, 
Since quickened by Thy breath ; 

Oh lead me, wheresoe'er I go, 
Through this day's life or death. 

This day be bread and peace my lot — 

All else beneath the sun 
Thou know'st if best bestowed or not, 

And let Thy will be done. 

To Thee, whose temple is all epace. 
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies — 

One chorus let all being raise ! 
All nature's incense rise ! 

Alexander Pops. 



DIVINE EJACULATION 



Gee AT God ! whose sceptre rules the earth, 
Distil Thy fear into my heart. 
That, being rapt with holy mirth, 
I may proclaim how good Thou art ; 
Open my lips, that I may sing 
Full praises to my God, my king. 



Great God ! Thy garden is defaced. 
The weeds thrive there. Thy flowers decay 
Oh caU to mind Thy promise past — 
Restore Thou them, cut these away ; 
Till then let not the weeds have powei 
To starve or stint the poorest flower. 



In all extremes. Lord, Thou art still 
The mount whereto my hopes do flee : 
Oh make my soul detest all ill. 
Because so much abhorred by Thee ; 
Lord, let Thy gracious trials show 
That I am just — or make me so. 



THOU, GOD, SEEST ME. 



bli 



iball mountain, desert, beast, and tree, 
field to that heavenly voice of Thine, 
Vcd shall that voice not startle me, 
^or stir this stone, this heart of mine ? 
!To, Lord, till Thou new-bore mine ear, 
riiy voice is lost, I cannot hear. 

V. 

j'ountain of light and living breath. 
Whose mercies never fail nor fade, 
7111 me with life that hath no death, 
j'ill me with light that hath no shade; 
Appoint the remnant of my days 
Co see Thy power and sing Thy praise. 



X. 

Great God ! whose kingdom hath no end. 
Into whose secrets none can dive. 
Whose mercy none can apprehend. 
Whose justice none can feel — and live, 
What my dull heart cannot aspire 
To know, Lord, teach me to admire. 

John Quables. 



uord God of gods ! before whose throne 
5tand storms and fire, oh what shall we 
Eleturn to heaven, that is our own, 
When all the world belongs to Thee ? 
We have no oflferings to impart, 
But praises, and a Avounded heart. 

VII. 

Thou that sitt'st in heaven and see'st 
My deeds without, my thoughts within. 
Be Thou my prince, be Thou my priest— 
Command my soul, and cure my sin ; 
How bitter my afflictions be 

1 care not, so I rise to Thee. 

VIII. 

What I possess, or what I crave. 
Brings no content, great God, to me, 
If what I would, or what I have. 
Be not possessed and blest in Thee : 
What I enjoy, oh make it mine. 
In making me — that have it — Thine. 

IX. 

When winter fortunes cloud the brows 

Of summer friends— when eyes grow strange— 

When ijlighted faith forgets its vows. 

When earth and all things in it change— 

Lord, Thy mercies fail me never ; 

Where once Thou lov'st, Thou lov\st for ever. 



"THOU, GOD, SEEST ME." 

God, unseen but not unknown, 
Thine eye is ever fixed on me ; 

1 dwell beneath Thy secret throne, 

Encompassed by Thy deity. 

Throughout this universe of space 

To nothing am I long allied ; 
For flight of time, and change of place. 

My strongest, dearest bonds divide. 

Parents I had, but where are they ? 

Friends whom I knew I know no more ; 
Companions, once that cheered my way. 

Have dropped behind or gone before. 

Kow I am one amidst a crowd 
Of hfe and action hurrying round ; 

Now left alone— for, like a cloud, 

They came, they went, and are not found. 

Even from myself sometimes I part- 
Unconscious sleep is nightly death- 
Yet surely by my couch Thou art. 

To prompt my pulse, inspire my breath. 

Of all that I have done and said 

How little can I now recall! 
Forgotten things to me are dead ; 

With Thee they live,— Thou know'st theit 
all. 

Thou hast been with me from the womb, 
Witness to every conflict here ; 

Nor wilt Thou leave me at the tomb- 
Before Thy bar I must appear. 

The moment comes,— tlio only one 

Of all my time to be foretold ; 
Yet when, and how, and wliere, can none 

Among the race of man unfold :— 



812 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



The moment comes when strength shall fail, 
When — health, and hope, and courage 
flown — 

I must go down into the vale 
And shade of death with Thee alone. 

Alone with Thee ! — in that dread strife 
Uphold me through mine agony; 

And gently be this dying life 
Exchanged for immortality. 

Then, when the unbodied spirit lands 
"Where flesh and blood have never trod, 

And in the unveiled presence stands, 
Of Thee, ray Saviour and my God — 

Be mine eternal portion this — 
Since Thou wert always here with me : 

That I may view Thy face in bliss, 
And be for evermore with Thee. 

James Montgomery. 



DELIGHT m GOD OIsTLY. 

I LOVE, and have some cause to love, the( 
earth — 
She is my maker's creature, therefore good. 
She is my mother, for she gave me birth ; 
She is my tender nurse, she gives me 

food: 
But what's a creature, Lord, compared 

with Thee ? 
Or what 's my mother or my nurse to me ? 

I love the air — her dainty sweets refresh 

My droophig soul, and to new sweets in- 
vite me ; 
Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me witli 
their flesh. 

And with their polyphonian notes delight 
me : 

But what 's the air, or all the sweets that 
she 

Can bless my fotiI withal, compared to 
Thee? 



I love the sea — she is my fellow-creature. 
My careful purveyor ; she provides me 
store ; 

She walls me round ; she makes my diet 
greater ; 
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore . 
But, Lord of oceans, when compared with 

Thee, 
What is the ocean or her wealth to me ? 

To heaven's high city I direct my journey, 
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine 

eye- 
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney, 
Transcends the crystal pavement of the 

sky: 
But what is heaven, great God, compared 

to Thee ? 
Without Thy presence, heaven 's no heaven 

to me. 

Without Thy presence, earth gives no refec- 
tion ; 

Without Thy presence, sea affords no treas- 
ure ; 
Without Thy presence, air 's a rank infection 

Without Thy presence, heaven 's itself nc I 
pleasure : 

[f not possessed, if cot enjoyed in Thee, 

What 's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to 
me? 

The highest honors that the world can boast 

Are subjects far too low for my desire ; 
The brightest beams of glory are, at most. 
But dying sparkles of Thy living fire ; 
The loudest flames that earth can kindle, 

be 
But nightly glow-worms if compared to 
Thee. 



Without Thy presence, wealth is bags of 

cares ; 
Wisdom but folly ; joy, disquiet, sadness; 
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ' 
Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing j 

madness — | 

Without Thee, Lord, things be not wha,t! 

they be. 
Is or have their being, when compared witl 

Thee. 



GOD'S GREATNESS. 



b\y 



In having all things, and not Thee, what 

have I ? 

N'ot having Thee, what have ray labors 

got? 

Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I? 

And having Thee alone, what have I not ? 

I wish nor sea, nor land, nor would I be 

Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed 

of Thee ! 

Francis Quarles. 



,TIME PAST TIME PASSING, TIME TO 
GOME. 

' Lord, Thou hast been Thy people's rest. 
Through all their generations — 

1 Their refuge when by troubles pressed, 
Their hope in tribulations : 
Thou, ere the mountains sprang to birth, 

: Or ever Thou hadst formed the earth, 
Art God from everlasting. 

Our life is like the transient breath. 
That tells a mournful story — 
' Early or late stopped short by death — 
And where is all our glory ? 
Our days are threescore years and ten, 
> And if the span be lengthened then. 
Their strength is toil and sorrow. 

' Lo ! Thou hast set before Thine eyes 

All our misdeeds and errors ; 

Our secret sins from darkness rise 

At Thine awakening terrors : 

' Who shall abide the trying hour ? 

Who knows the thunder of Thy power? 
* We flee unto Thy mercy. 

Lord, teach us so to mark our days 
That we may prize them duly ; 

Bo guide our feet in wisdom's \vajs 
That we may love Thee truly ; 

Return, O Lord ! our griefs behold, 
^ ' And with Thy goodness, as of old. 
Oh satisfy us early I 

'' JXmEK MONTOO.ttEliY 



"THOU GOD UNSEARCHABLE.'* 

Thou God unsearchable, unknown, 
Who still conceal'st Thyself from me, 

Hear an apostate spirit groan — 
Broke off and banished far from The>e : 

But conscious of my fall I mourn, 

And fain I would to Thee return. 

Send forth one ray of heavenly light. 
Of gospel hope, of humble fear. 

To guide me through the gulf of night— 
My poor desponding soul to cheer, 

Till Thou my unbelief remove. 

And show me all Thy glorious love. 

A hidden God indeed Thou art — 
Thy absence I this moment feel ; 

Yet must I own it from my heart — 
Concealed, Thou art a Saviour still ; 

And though Thy face I cannot see, 

I know Thine eye is fixed on me. 

My Saviour Thou, not yet revealed ; 

Yet will I Thee my Saviour call. 
Adore Thy hand — from sin withheld — 

Thy hand shall save me from my fall : 
Now Lord, throughout my darkness shine 
And show Thyself for ever mine. 

0HAELE3 W7»L2\. 



GOD'S GREATNESS. 

GOD, Thou bottomless abyss ! 

Thee to perfection who can know ? 
height immense ! what words sutfioe 

Thy countless attributes to show ? 
Unfathomable depths Thou art I 

plunge me in Thy mercy's sea ! 
Void of true wisdom is my heart — 

With love embrace and cover me I 
While Thee, all infinite, I set 

By faith before my ravished eye. 
My weakness bends beneath the weight— 

O'erpowered, I sink, I faint, I die I 

Eternity Thy fountain was, 

Which, like Thee, no beginning knew : 
Thou wast ere time began his race. 

Ere glowed with stars th' ethereal blue. 



rJli 



POEMS OF RELIGIOIS'. 



Greatness unspeakable is Thine — 

Greatness whose undiminished ray, 
When short-lived worlds are lost, shall 
shine, — 

AYhen earth and heaven are fled away. 
CTnchangeable, all-perfect Lord, 

Essential life 's unbounded sea ! 
What lives and moves, lives by Thy word ; 

It lives, and moves, and is, from Thee. 

Thy parent-hand. Thy forming skill, 

Firm fixed this universal chain ; 
Else empty, barren darkness still 

Had held his unmolested reign. 
Whate'er in earth, or sea, or sky, 

Or shuns or meets the wandering thought. 
Escapes or strikes the searching eye, 

By Thee was to perfection brought ! 
High is Thy power above all height ; 

Whate'er Thy will decrees is done ; 
Thy wisdom, equal to Tiiy might. 

Only to Thee, God, is known ! 

Heaven's glory is Thy awful throne. 

Yet earth partakes Tliy gracious sway; 
Vain man ! thy wisdom folly own — 

Lost is thy reason's feeble ray. 
What our dim eye could never see 

Is plain and naked to Thy sight ; 
What thickest darkncb"S veils, to Thee 

Shines clearly as the morning light, 
[n light Thou dwell'st, light that no shade, 

No variation, ever knew ; 
Heaven, earth, and hell stand all displayed, 

And open to Thy piercing view. 

Thou, true and only God, lead'st forth 

Th' immortal armies of the sky ; 
Thou laugh'st to scorn the gods of earth ; 

Thou thunder est, and amazed they fly ! 
With downcast eye th' angelic choir 

Appear before Thy awful face ; 
Trembling they strike the golden lyre. 

And through heaven's vault resound Thy 
praise, 
[n earth, in heaven, in all Thou art ; 

The conscious creature feels Thy nod, 
Whose forming hand on every part 

Impressed the image of its Go(L 



Thine, Lord, is wisdom. Thine alone ! 

Justice and truth before Thee stand i 
Yet, nearer to Thy sacred throne, 

Mercy withholds Thy lifted hand. 
Each evening shows Thy tender love, 

Each rising morn Thy plenteous grace ; 
Thy wakened wrath doth slowly move. 

Thy willing mercy flies apace ! 
To Thy benign, indulgent care, 

Father, this light, this breath we owe ; - 1 
xind all we have, and all we are. 

From TJiee, great source of being, flow.r 

Parent of good. Thy bounteous hand 

Incessant blessings down distils, 
And all in air, or sea, or land, 7 

With plenteous food and gladness fillo. 
All things in Thee live, move, and are — 

Thy power infused doth all sustain ; 
Even those Thy daily favors share 

Who thankless spurn Thy easy reign. 
Thy sun Thou bidd'st his genial ray 

Alike on all impartial pour ; 
To all, who hate or bless Thy sway, 

Thou bidd'st descend the fruitful shower. 



Yet while, at length, who scorned Thy migli • j 

Shall feel Thee a consuming fire. 
How sweet the joys, the crown how bright, 

Of those who to Thy love aspire ! 
All creatures praise th' eternal name ! 

Ye hosts that to His court belong — 
Cherubic choirs, seraphic flames — 

Awake the everlasting song ! 
Thrice holy! Thine the kingdom is — 

The power omnipotent is Thine ; 
And when created nature dies, 

Thy never-ceasing glories shine. 

JoACHiii Justus Beeithaupt. (Gern^au.^ 
Translation of John Wesley. 



GOD. 



THOU eternal One ! whose presence bright 
All space doth occupy, all m.otion guide — 
Unchanged through time's all-devastating 

flight ! 
Thou only God — there is no God beside I 
Being above all beiiigs! Mighty One, 



GOD. 



816 



Whom none can compreliend and none ex- 
plore ! 
Who fiU'st existence with Thyself alone — 
Emhracing all, supporting, ruling o'er, — 
Being whom we call God, and know no 
more! 

In its sublime research, philosophy- 
May measure out the ocean-deep — ^may count 
The sands or the sun's rays — but, God ! for 

Thee 
l^ere is no weight nor measure; none can 

mount 
Cp to Thy mysteries; Eeason'H brightest 

spark, 
Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would 

try 
To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark ; 
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so 

high, 
Even like past moments in eternity. 

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call 

First chaos, then existence — Lord ! in Thee 

Eternity had its foundation ; all 

Sprung forth from Thee — of light, joy, har- 
mony. 

Sole Origin — all life, all beauty Thine ; 

Thy word created all, and doth create ; 

Thv splejidor fills all space with rays divine ; 
'hou art, and wert. and shalt be ! Glorious ! 
Great ! 

Light-giving, life-sustaining potentate! 

Thy chains the unmeasured universe sur- 
round — 
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with 

breath ! 
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, 
And beautifully mingled life and death ! 
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery 

blaze, 
3o suns are born, so worlds spring forth from 

Thee ; 
A.nd as the spangles in the sunny rays 
^hine round the silver snow, the pageantry 
i)f heaven's bright army glitters ^ in Thy 
praise. 



i million torches lighted by Thy hand 
iVander unwearied through ihe blue a^ 



rsS" 



They own Thy power, accomplish Thy com- 
mand, 

All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 

What shall we call them ? Piles of crystal 
hght— 

A glorious company of golden streams — 

Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — 

Suns hghting systems with their joyous 
beams ? 

But Thou to these art as the noon to night. 

Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea. 
All this magnificence in Thee is lost : — 
What are ten thousand worlds compared to 

Thee? 
And what am I then? — Heaven's unnum- 
bered host. 
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 
In all the glory of sublimest thought. 
Is but an atom in the balance, weighed 
Against Thy greatness — is a cipher brought 
Against infinity ! What am I then 1 ISTaught 

iTaught ! But the effluence of Thy light di- 
vine, 
Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom 

too; 
Yes ! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine. 
As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew. 
I^aughtl but I live, and on hope's pinions fiy 
Eager towards Thy presence — for in Thee 
I live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high. 
Even to the throne of Thy divinity. 
I am, God ! and surely Thou must be ! 

Thou art! — directing, guiding all — Thou art! 
Direct my understanding then to Thee ; 
Control my spirit, guide my wandering 

heart ; 
Though but an atom midst innnensity. 
Still I am something, ftxshioned by Thy 

hand! 
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and 

earth — 
On the last verge of mortal being stand, 
Close to the realms where angels have their 

birth, 
Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land! 

The chain of being is complete in me— 
In me is matter's last gradation lost, 



816 



i'OEMS OF RELIGION. 



And the next step is spirit— deity ! 
I can conanand the lightning, and am dust! 
A monarch and a slave— -a worm, a god ! 
Whence came I here, and how ? so marvel- 

lonsly 
Constrncted and conceived? nnknown! this 

clod 
Lives surelv through some higher energy ; 
For from itself alone it conld not he ! 

Creator, yes ! Thy wisdom and Thy word 
Created me ! Thou source of life and good ! 
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! 
Thy light, Thy love, in their hright plenitude 
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring 
Over the ahyss of death ; and bade it wear 
The garments of eternal day, and wing 



Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, | 
Even to its source — to Thee — its author 

there. 

Oh thoughts ineffable! oh visions blest! 
Though worthless our conceptions aU of Thee, 
Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast, 
And waft its homage to Thy deity. 
God! thus alone my lowly thoughts cac 

soar, 
Thus seek Thy presence — Being wise anc 

good ! 
Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, .adore ; 
And when the tongue is eloquent no more 
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. 
Gabeiel Romanowitch Derzhavix. (RuatiiaQ.; 
Translation of John BowTLi>^a 






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